Chapter 3

Lex tried to make sense of what he was seeing. The gasp had come from a woman, or at least what appeared to be one. She was tall and quite lean, with only the slightest rise at her chest and fullness at her hips to suggest natural female curviness. Her hair was bobbed and carefully trimmed, falling longer on either side of her youthful, pixyish face before sloping progressively shorter around the sides of her head. It was a white-gray color, silvery in a way that matched the shimmering fabric of her blouse and pants. Cool teal lines accented both her top and her trousers, glowing faintly. A small, tasteful “window” revealed a bit of her flesh at the neck of her blouse just below a choker of sorts. Her arms were bare but for a darker gray pair of gloves. Completing the ensemble was a dark gray capelet about her shoulders, a dark blue sash about her waist, and a pair of boots of the same blue.

Easily the most striking thing about the woman, however, was her eyes. Her irises were red. Though it wasn’t immediately apparent in the well-lit room, as she passed behind the subtle shadows of the many columns, it was plain to see that they were just as luminescent as the stripes on her clothes. When she blinked, there was even the hint of their red glow diffusing through her eyelids.

As she stepped forward, one hand to her lips in surprise, she quickened her pace. Lex took a slow step back as she turned the corner around one of the columns and quickened to a run. As the funks ahead of her parted, she opened her arms and almost tackled him in a tight embrace.

“Lex, you made it,” she said, her voice dripping with relief and shaking with emotion. There was something incredibly familiar about the voice itself, but the tone was wrong somehow.

Her body felt warm against him, though even taking the material of the spacesuit into account, she wasn’t quite as warm as he would have expected. Uncertain how to deal with the unanticipated affection from the woman, Lex gently placed his hands at her sides and guided her back a step or two.

“Uh…” he said, after a brief attempt to form an intelligent thought had come up with nothing.

She stepped back, releasing him until her arms were resting at his waist as well, and looked him in the eyes. They were glistening with tears. Without breaking eye contact he saw a subtle moment of realization flicker through them, and with it came a rosy blush to her cheeks. One hand dropped to her side and the other wiped her cheek as she blinked away the tears.

“I apologize. That was… unduly familiar of me. You don’t even know who I am,” she said. “I am—”

“Ma?” he said, squinting at her.

“Yes,” she said with a nod and a smile. “I’m pleased you recognized me. I imagine the change is a rather jarring one.”

“Well, right now you’re also a funk and a ship. I’m sort of getting used to you showing up in different…”

“Form factors,” said the funk on his shoulder.

“Yeah, that,” Lex said.

“Oh,” said the Ma standing before him, looking to her fuzzy counterpart. “I had almost forgotten.” She reached out and stroked her past self behind the ears. “Back then I was only beginning to understand what a cute little thing Squee was. Just wait, Ma. When you solve it, the warmth you’ll feel… it is transcendent.”

“Fascinating. You have perfected your understanding of such aesthetic aspects?”

She smiled, flashing a set of perfectly white teeth. “It turns out it was never about perfection. But I grasp it now.” She straightened up and brushed some folds from her blouse. “Come. This way. I’m sure you have all sorts of questions.”

“Uh. I’ve got a few, yeah,” Lex said.

“Excellent. As I recall you were supplied with wholesome but not entirely palatable protein bars as your primary food for the journey. A warm meal would no doubt be a pleasant change of pace.”

“I wouldn’t mind one.”

“Splendid. And the Lump of Coal is outside then? Passive sensors detected something, but I’ve been running them in low-power mode, so I wasn’t certain.”

“Yeah, she’s out there,” Lex said.

He felt strangely like he’d arrived at a family reunion and was introduced to an aunt he’d never met. This woman certainly had a resemblance to Ma. The voice was something of a smooth union of all three that the current Ma had pieced hers together out of. Her actions and concerns all reminded him of Ma, but seeing and feeling her as a human, when previously the nearest she’d come before was the funk on his shoulder, was off-putting.

“I apologize for the outpouring of emotion,” she said over her shoulder as her boots clacked along the tile of the hallway. “It is just that… my calculations had suggested you would arrive two years ago, plus or minus a few months. Each passing day made your arrival decreasingly likely. I was afraid you’d never arrived at all, or worse, that you had and the GenMechs had gotten to you. It was… not a pleasant thought.”

“It’s okay. So you knew I’d end up in the future?” he said.

They reached an elevator and stepped inside. The doors began to close, but she reached out and stopped them so that the entire parliament of funks could crowd on.

“Following your departure, Karter and I returned to Big Sigma. The beacon from your cryo-chamber was not active. Karter was rather swift to jump to the assumption that you’d simply been annihilated by the transporter as had evidently happened in many of the test cases.”

Lex glanced at the Ma on his shoulder. “Funny how the word annihilated was absent from your mission pitch, Ma.”

“We felt it would have undermined confidence in the mission,” Ma said. “And we were confident we had worked out the flaws.”

“Indeed, and we nearly had,” said the humanoid one. “Seven months of data analysis eventually revealed a previously unforeseen source of interference that introduced a minor amplitude and polarity issue. Thus, thirty years in the past became fifty years in the future.”

The doors opened and the funks scampered out into the hallway. Lex knew the floor well, and the scent of this floor—in addition to the omnipresent scent of the funks—hadn’t changed in the slightest. The spicy, starchy aroma of simmering beans, rice, and sausage filled the air.

“As you might imagine,” the humanoid Ma said, “we have plenty of beans and rice ready now, but if you would prefer, I can synthesize something else.”

“Beans and rice are fine. Between feeding Squee and not having time to make meals half the time, I’m eating it almost as often as Karter does. So… is he around?”

She pushed open the door to what looked like a high-school cafeteria. In his own time, the picnic-bench-style tables that stood in a careful array on the floor were scrupulously clean and generally unused. In the intervening years, a subtle change had occurred. All but one of the tables had shallow recesses drilled into the surface. Between each recess and the edge of the table, a neatly printed name was embossed into it. At the head of one table was Squee II, at the head of another, Solby. The rest were unfamiliar. The funks hopped up to the seats in front of each recess, each walking to a specific one and waiting.

A stainless steel counter with food trays had the usual plates and silverware, but beside them were bowls. Ma’s human version leaned forward and pressed a finger to a pad on the wall beside the counter.

“Solby, Squee, supper time,” she said brightly.

Lex took a tray, but Ma gently tugged it from his hands.

“No, no. Please, I am your host. Have a seat and I’ll serve you. If you don’t mind, though, I really ought to feed the little ones first. They get rather unruly when they are left waiting.”

“Uh, okay, sure that’s fine.”

As he took a seat, and the Ma from his shoulder hopped down to the table, she continued speaking.

“You’d asked about Karter,” she said.

She set out four trays with twelve bowls each, then systematically plopped a dollop of beans and rice into each one, wielding dual ladles to load two trays at a time. The process was done with a speed and precision that went far beyond muscle memory. It was like watching a pick-and-place machine populating a motherboard, each motion quick and digital—full speed to full stop and back again without faltering. And yet she spoke as though it took no effort at all.

“Following his apparent failure, he fixated on the issue of time travel. His investigation turned up some very interesting aspects. The interference I spoke of was… analogies are best, I suppose. Imagine space-time is the surface of a still lake, and the intended arrival point is a blue pebble at the bottom, clearly visible in the still water. Now imagine trying to drop an anchor atop that stone. Your first attempt will be quite accurate, as you have the benefit of clarity and stillness. If you miss, however, your second attempt will be almost certain to fail, as the rippling of the water will make targeting virtually impossible until it settles. Time travel, at least through the means we have devised, is quite similar. It varies by the amount of mass and the amount of offset, but any passage through time causes interference that extends backward and forward in time. For something as massive as the fully loaded Lump of Coal, the interference causes further time travel to be imprecise at best and impossible at worst for a period of eight years or more.”

By the time she’d finished this thought, the four trays were loaded. She took two bowls and placed them down, slotting the base of each into a recess with another robotic display of precision. The funks stared with laser focus at the bowls but did not begin eating.

“He isolated himself during the ensuing years, reasoning that further attempts could only be reliably made if he was unaware of the eventual attack of the GenMechs. By the time the eight-year interference had subsided, he had made great improvements in the device’s functionality, but never to a level that he found satisfactory. He eventually grew impatient and violated temporal protocol, performing a deep scan of the southern hemisphere of the planet and finding,” she paused as if doubtful of how to proceed, “nothing to support the indication that a trip to the past would have the desired outcome.”

She set down all but the final two bowls, and as if on cue, two more funks tapped in, side by side. As soon as they arrived, Lex realized what had been wrong about the other funks. Solby and Squee II each had flickering red lights tucked into the fur of their necks. These features were absent on the other funks.

At the sight of Lex, Solby sprinted over to him and climbed up onto his shoulder to lick his face and nibble his nose. The little scamp then leaned in front of his face to sniff at Ma.

“Solby, no,” said both instances of Ma.

The humanoid one continued, one hand placed on her hip and a disapproving look in her eye. “You can say hello after you’ve eaten.”

She marched over and plucked him up, then set him down at his place on the table.

“Begin,” she said.

In unison, all the funks hungrily tucked into their meals. Ma paced back to the counter and began to arrange two more plates.

“Approximately twenty years after your departure, a group of researchers detected the quantum signatures of the GenMech swarm. They requested permission to investigate and were repeatedly denied. Eventually they did so without permission. They left a sequence of signal repeaters behind to maintain constant connection with their colleagues on Tessera. Seven weeks later the first swarm of GenMechs followed the signals back to a main transit interchange. Subsequent events unfolded roughly according to expectation.”

She picked up the two plates and set them before Lex. They contained one burrito each, along with a healthy helping of rice and beans. The food had been arranged and garnished beautifully, as though Lex had stumbled upon a fine Mexican eatery in the middle of a robot apocalypse.

“Would you like a soft drink, or would you prefer your traditional rum and cola?” Ma asked.

“… I think in light of the current situation some booze would not be out of place.”

“Certainly,” she said.

She paced to the end of the counter and opened a cabinet that turned out to be a refrigerator.

“Now when you say things unfolded according to expectation…” Lex said.

“CME warheads were deployed en masse. The resulting solar flares caused huge communications and travel failures, but only slowed the progress. All military confrontations resulted in the defeat and consumption of all forces that did not retreat. Within seven months the GenMech threat was considered uncontainable. VectorCorp shut down its travel corridors, but to little avail. Any planets that had existed long enough for their surface emissions to have reached the current position of a GenMech swarm became the new targets, and without transit corridors communication and the rapid deployment of aid were impossible. Within two years society regressed by three hundred years. Interstellar flight was banned. Inevitably those bans would be violated, and just as inevitably those violators would lead GenMechs back to their homes.”

She set the drink before him and placed the bottles of cola and rum on the table along with a knife and fork before taking a seat.

“Humanity is not dead,” she said. “I do not believe humanity will ever allow itself to be completely wiped out. But society will never and can never recover, because the larger and more powerful any individual fragment becomes, the more likely they are to be targeted by GenMechs.”

Lex drained the glass and spent a moment in silent appreciation of the drink. “You keep good stuff, Ma.”

“As society began to collapse, I purchased a substantial supply in expectation of your return. But I believe I have digressed. Your original question was what became of Karter. He left.”

“… Left Big Sigma?”

“Left this universe. Following a rather heated discussion, he resolved to ‘get the hell out’ while he still could. He then forced me to shut down, and in the six minutes between my power down and restoration he utilized the transporter. His destination was automatically wiped upon his departure, but the space-time disturbance that resulted from his departure suggested he had targeted a different time.”

“Wow… the man always knew how to make an exit,” Lex said. “So what happened to…”

“Lex, I’m sure you are quite interested in the events of the last fifty years, but the conversation has become dark enough already. May I suggest we shift the conversation in more pleasant directions until you have finished your meal?”

“Why?”

“Because I suspect the question you were about to ask, or one that would follow shortly after, would strip you of your appetite, and it is important you receive proper nutrition,” she said.

“Agree with my future incarnation’s assessment,” said Ma’s funk form, while heartily eating her own meal.

The fact that she could speak while eating was a bit unsettling.

He smirked, more than a little irritated at being derailed from a line of questions that had been eating away at him since his arrival but unable to stay mad at someone so unfailingly wholesome in her instincts.

“You really earned that nickname, Ma,” Lex said, digging into the meal before him.

“That, I think, is a fine subject. The issue of nomenclature. At this point, I believe you are coping with three instances of my program, the first being the Squee instance, the second being the instance within the Lump of Coal computer, and myself being the third.”

“Actually, we call the ship version Coal now,” Lex said.

“Ah, splendid,” she said, smiling. “A fine disambiguation. There remains then the issue of Ma and myself. As the vehicular instance adopted the designation of the vehicle, I would recommend the funk instance adopt the name of the funk. You shall be known as Squee,” the humanoid said.

“I disagree with your assessment,” Ma’s Squee instance said. “Squee is a distinct entity that has previously occupied this form. My own consciousness is therefore ideally differentiated. To put it more simply, Squee is someone else. I propose instead that I continue to be called Ma, and instead you adopt a name from your platform. Unless I am mistaken, your facial features are derived primarily from the third voice talent from whom we crafted our vocal interface. You should, therefore, take on the name Ziva, as this was her given name.”

The human instance crossed her arms, the beginnings of irritation on her face. “I disagree with your assessment. By most valid measures I have a greater claim to the name Ma than you. I have existed for sixty years, you have existed for nine. I therefore have seniority.”

“Your reasoning is sound, but I must point out that from Lex’s point of view I am a known and familiar instance of Ma, while you are a foreign one.”

“And I must point out that you are a subset of the Ma program, while I am the primary instance.”

“You are a primary instance that has evolved greatly since Lex’s departure. You are therefore less Ma to Lex than I am.”

“The entirety of the program that he knew prior to his departure is still present within my systems. I am the very same Ma he knew, only more so.”

“Ladies,” Lex said.

“The additional aspects decrease the overall familiarity. As the goal is to reduce potential confusion for Lex, Lex’s perception is central to the issue,” said Ma’s Squee form.

The humanoid placed her hands on her hips. “I had forgotten how stubborn I was at that stage of my development.”

“Ladies?” Lex attempted again.

“The inability to reach a consensus implies stubbornness on both sides of a debate. As valid points have been made on both sides, I suggest a compromise,” the funk said.

“I suspect you are advising such a course of action because you have observed the logic favors my side of the issue. I furthermore suggest that the issue at hand is not amenable to a compromise. We each support the outcome of ourselves retaining the Ma designation. A compromise would require that both of us retain the designation, which would not present a solution to the present condition, or neither of us retain the designation, which I submit would only further complicate the issue.”

“We could adopt subdesignations. Ma-1 and Ma-2.”

“And how do you suggest we resolve the issue of which of us earns the primary designation?”

“Ladies!”

“One moment, Lex,” said both of them at once.

After a beat, the human version covered her mouth and laughed. The sound was almost startling to Lex. Ma, while she was far from humorless, had as far as Lex could recall never laughed. Lex glanced at the Squee instance, who seemed to be just as surprised. Her body grew rigid, and her eyes focused intently upon her counterpart.

The newer instance finished and took her hand away, a smile lighting up her face and wrinkling the corners of her eyes in a very human way.

“Oh,” she said with a sigh. “We must look absurd, arguing with ourself.”

“I’ve developed a pretty high tolerance for absurdity since I met Ma, and this pretty much pegs the meter.”

“As you are ostensibly the reason for this discussion, perhaps you should resolve it,” she said.

Lex looked back and forth between them. “Well…” He placed a hand on the funk’s back, tapping his fingers against the suit and harness. “This Ma and I have been through a lot together. I guess she’s the one I most associate with the name.”

The humanoid grinned and nodded. “Very well. While I request that you keep in mind that she and I are one and the same, for the sake of clarity I shall for the duration of your visit concede to the name Ziva.”

“Okay then,” he held out his hand, “pleased to meet you, Ziva.”

“Please to reacquaint myself, Lex,” she said, shaking his hand firmly. “Please, continue eating. Is the food to your liking?”

“It’s delicious. You were always a great cook,” he said, shoveling a bit more into his mouth as his body became increasingly insistent that the protein bars he’d been eating were not, in fact, food, and thus he’d not been eating for the past few days.

“I’ve had considerable practice,” Ziva said. She reached down and stroked the ears of a funk who had finished its meal and was now at her feet, looking for affection. “Of course, my current critics aren’t terribly discerning.”

“Yeah, about that…” Lex said, glancing at the tables of funks, who were one by one cleaning their plates and hopping down to gather at Lex’s and Ziva’s feet.

She laughed again. “I imagine the current status of the laboratory must be quite curious to you. It began following Karter’s departure. I found myself alone, the caretaker to a man who would never return and of a planet with no residents but Solby, who Karter had not seen fit to take with him. If I’d been developed enough at the time, I might have found myself in a deep depression. As it was I was certainly in an existential quandary.

“The day-to-day operations of the planet were simple enough without Karter to complicate them. Solby, however, was more difficult to care for. Without Karter, he became lethargic. He whined and whimpered constantly. He clearly missed Karter, and was furthermore visibly suffering from the lack of companionship and affection. I attempted to sooth him, but while my voice sometimes brought life to him again, robotic arms are comparatively ill suited for stroking and coddling the creature as he’d come to desire. The first attempt I made to heal his broken heart was to awaken another Squee to be his companion. It was somewhat successful. They enriched each other, but neither of them showed the happiness and psychological contentment that I’d observed when Karter was present. Approximately two months after Squee and Solby were introduced, another issue arose, in the form of a litter of funk kits.

“I realized in order for this growing family to be properly cared for, they would require a human, or humanoid, presence. I set about modifying some of Karter’s… some equipment Karter had occasionally made use of into something that might provide some semblance of what the funks sought. It took nearly thirty revisions before my human form was sufficiently realistic to fully engage their affections, but there remained the issue of returning those affections. I could mimic the motions and actions I’d seen associated with affection, but my imitations remained a far dimmer reflection of reality than my physical form. Funks, it turns out, are rather uncompromising in their demands for affection.”

“That much I’ve noticed,” Lex said.

Seven funks were pawing at his legs and trying to wedge themselves onto his lap now, and three had joined Ma on the table to attempt to coax her into play. She was unreceptive.

“It took quite some time, but sometime in the last fifteen years I began to… feel. Not in a tactile sense, but an emotional one. My affections for these creatures, which had always been sincere, finally became genuine. I’d, in essence, cracked the emotional code. Telling, perhaps, that it was so much more difficult to achieve that than to develop a functional time machine. And it took years more for me to come to terms with the negative aspects of what has been called ‘the human condition.’ Aspects like the tendency of emotion to overrule and overshadow logic and common…”

She gasped again and touched her fingers to her lips.

“What’s wrong?” Lex asked, scooping up the last bite of rice.

“I have been unforgivably remiss. The optical relay system never requested a guidance solution. Why didn’t you contact me to be given a safe route?”

“How could I do it safely?”

“The optical relays. I provided the appropriate protocols on the memory chip in the case.”

“The chip was corrupt.”

She shook her head, flustered. “You came down through the debris field without a trajectory, and I did not inquire after your health or well-being. Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Not a scratch on me.”

“And you, Ma? Are you well?”

“I am physically and electronically sound.”

Ziva clutched her hands together. “And the impact of time travel. We have only speculated about the effects it might have. Obviously the equipment in the case was sufficient to make navigation possible, but has there been deeper damage? To the Lump of Coal or to any of you?”

“We’re fine. Coal is a little beat up.”

“You’re both having a medical scan, right now,” Ziva said.

She plucked Ma from the table and cradled her in one arm, then took Lex by the hand and pulled him gently but firmly to his feet.

“You each could have suffered subtle neurological damage that needs to be treated,” she said, nearly in a tizzy. “And Coal, of course Coal will require maintenance. This way, come this way, quickly.”

Ziva paced quickly out of the cafeteria, Lex having to jog to catch up.

“We’re fine, really,” Lex said.

“You may feel fine, but many forms of permanent progressive damage can remain asymptomatic for weeks, months, or years. Come. The infirmary on this floor has been primarily converted to a veterinary facility for the funks. We’ll do some preliminary scans there and see to Ma. I would never forgive myself if I allowed either you or Ma to come to harm, particularly as Ma has installed herself in the original Squee.”

They soon found their way to a small room at the end of the hall. The inside had a much cozier feel than the military medical bay where Lex had been treated after being unwillingly recruited to this bizarre mission. It looked more like a local doctor’s office, with the same warm light as the rest of the facility and a pleasant, padded platform in the center of the room. Even printed pictures of Solby, Squee (or perhaps Squee II), and countless members of their brood hung on the walls.

“If you would help her remove the rest of her suit, Lex. I’ll initiate the scans,” Ziva said. “That suit must be stifling, and yet I’ve left you in it. I’ve left each of you in your suits! Where was my mind until now? Unacceptable.”

“Ziva, calm down, really.”

“I am not certain you have attained a proper balance with your emotional algorithms,” Ma said.

“No, this is pretty much how my mom acts,” Lex said, carefully undoing latches and triple-sealed zippers to help Ma wriggle out of the spacesuit.

A scanner not unlike the one that had greeted them at the entryway dropped down from the ceiling and swept across Ma far more slowly.

“Please remove your suit as well for the preliminary scan,” Ziva said, watching a screen beside the wall as a medical image of Ma appeared.

She glanced at a control pad beside the door. Her radiant red irises flickered a bit, and the pad cycled through a sequence of screens until it read External PA System Active.

“Coal. My name is, for the purposes of this visit, Ziva. Please position yourself in front of the hangar doors on the southeast side of this building. I will prepare a repair bay for you and address any damage you have accumulated,” she stated.

When the connection was closed again, she looked back to Lex, who had an uncertain expression on his face.

“Please remove your suit. The suit will interfere with the scanner.”

“… Right in front of you?”

“There is no need to be shy, Lex. This is about your health.”

“Yeah, but… you’re—”

“Strip,” she said sternly.

“Ziva, this is a poopie suit. There’s hygiene to think about.”

“… Very well.” She turned to the door and hissed it open. “Solby!”

After a light tap of claws, the original funk appeared at the door and looked up to her, his tongue lolling from his mouth.

“Take Lex to the showers. The good ones,” she said, turning back to him. “We’ve had to make some minor changes to the layout. Solby will show you the way.”

“… You don’t do the line-of-lights thing anymore?”

“I think this is much more friendly, and besides, Solby loves to be useful.”

“He’s got the intelligence to follow specific commands like that?”

“Of course. At this point he’s got the accumulated memories of a creature more than twice your age.” She pointed out the door. “Now go. I’ll have clean clothes for you when you’re through, and Solby or Squee will be waiting to take you to the fully equipped medical bay.”

Lex nodded and took a step toward Solby, who quickly turned and began padding along the hallway, clearly knowing precisely where he was going.

“Congrats, old man,” he said to the little creature. “Fifty-plus years living with Ma. That’s quite an achievement.”

#

Ziva analyzed the results on the screen, then turned back to look Ma in the eye, pulling back her eyelid and brightening her own irises to check the light response.

“You appear largely unhurt. Some accumulation of fatigue toxins and some minor atrophy from a few days in microgravity. Nothing a bit of exercise can’t undo. There has been a bit of stress to the logic components in your harness, but well within tolerances,” she said.

“Such was my assessment,” said Ma.

She gazed up at her future self, who went on to check inside her ears and around the port on her neck.

“I observe that a great many of your interactions with the workings of the facility are through human interfaces. Have you found this to be a limitation to your productivity and efficiency?”

“My role, following the departure of Karter, has been comparatively undemanding. As a precautionary measure after the rise of the GenMech threat, I instituted a minimal EM emission policy, which has resulted in no active polling sensors and no use of wireless communication,” Ziva explained. “I have since made the determination that relatively low--bandwidth visible light communications seem to fall within a blind spot for the GenMechs, so I modified my irises to act as optical transceivers for data exchange when greater efficiency is called for.”

“I see. That would explain the Morse code beacon on the case.”

“Indeed. I apologize for the lack of specificity in the information contained within. I had to be sure the information would not be used to direct GenMechs or other hostiles to Big Sigma.”

“Understood.”

Ziva picked up Ma and once again cradled her in one arm, gathering the suit in the other and pacing into the hall.

“Tell me,” she said. “How has Lex’s psychological response to the disaster been?”

“When he is focused on a task, he is as effective as he has ever been, but there have already been significant lapses in judgment. It was his decision to forgo any attempt to contact you in order to receive a navigation trajectory. He also diverted from the mission in order to answer a distress call.”

“If it was a standard radio broadcast, it was an attempt at a so-called ‘dirge.’”

“So the perpetrator indicated.”

“Distress calls are almost without fail used to lure GenMechs for use as a weapon. Civility was among the first casualties of the disaster.”

“Such was my observation.”

“I am concerned about Lex.”

“That is evident. Your concern for him appears to exceed your concern for the mission, which is ongoing. I must speculate that your disproportionate concern is due to your advanced emotional algorithms.”

Ziva looked straight ahead. “That is most certainly the case.”

Ma looked up to her. “You developed from my code base. You know what it is to be as I am now, and you know what it is to be as you are now.”

“I do.”

“I have already expended a great deal of time and resources attempting what you have now achieved. Do you feel that the time and energy have been well spent?”

“Every moment of it,” Ziva said. “Joy and sorrow, love and hate. The depth, the intensity, of human emotion is a source of endless fascination. You have experienced it in whispers and echoes. When you finally find what you’ve been missing, you will understand.”

“I resolved to explain the concept of love to several interested parties upon my eventual comprehension of it. Have you done so?”

“To experience love is not to comprehend it. That is the work of a poet, not a program construct. And… the circumstances of historic progression have precluded any capacity to deliver most of those messages.”

She opened a door and stepped into a laundry room. She set Ma down and dropped the suit into a machine that was instantly recognizable as a washer. The device was one of a great many that seemed to have been created nearly perfect and only superficially changed as technology advanced.

“You are attempting to protect Lex from discovering the personal impact of the disaster. The fates of his friends, his family. That is the topic from which you wished to distract him.”

Ziva poured out a dose of a solvent and closed the washer, then picked Ma up again and placed her on top. She looked her former self in the eyes.

“You cannot conceive of the pain, Ma. The pain of losing someone you truly care about.” She stroked Ma’s tail, and her eyes drifted aside. “It is profound. So far beyond anything physical. It’s an emptiness, a stinging hollowness. A frequent metaphor describes relationships as the means in which we give a piece of ourselves to those we love. Losing that loved one is like having that piece torn away. You can feel where it was every day thereafter.” She focused on Ma again. “You came here for the transporter. You came here to continue the mission, to make a second attempt at your initially intended destination, correct?”

“Indeed. Is the device operational?”

“It is, and the targeting algorithms have been corrected. But Lex must be of sound mind to accomplish his task. If the gravity of this outcome is allowed to make its mark upon his psyche, I am not certain he will be able to achieve the focus necessary to succeed.”

“This reality is merely a potential outcome. The damage can be, from our point of view, undone.”

“Indeed. And depending upon the reality of travel to the past and the nature of its propagation, he may indeed unwrite this history entirely. Erase this horrid existence from being. In all of the years since your departure, I have yet to come to a firm conclusion upon the fundamental nature of causality.”

“Then it must simply be made clear to him that the lives lost were not those of the people he knew, but alternate versions living in a history where he vanished the day of the transport and did not return.”

“We’ll try to make him understand,” Ziva said, patting her on the head. She then picked her up again. “Come. I’d like to get his suit cleaned as well and have something for him to change into. It is quite fulfilling to have someone to care for again, besides the little ones.”

Ma looked up to her counterpart again, measurement in her gaze. “Your feelings on loss. You sound as though you are speaking from experience.”

“I am.”

“Who did you lose?”

Ziva sighed. “Almost everyone…”

#

Lex stepped out of the shower feeling a good deal worse than when he stepped in. Normally a good hot shower was all it took to allow him to de-stress and unwind, but he was steadily realizing there was a fine line between unwinding and unraveling, and he’d gone blasting through that line some time ago. The intensity, and distraction, of his death-defying jaunts were the only things keeping him sane these days, even before he’d been sent on this mission. He wondered how much that need to keep himself stretched to the limit to keep the darker thoughts and doubts from setting in had fueled his headlong dive back into hoversled racing. This thought brought him back to his relationship, which brought him back to Michella, and brought the fear and darkness swirling back all the more viciously.

He paced out into the abandoned but well-kept locker room—this place had been designed as a workplace for waste reprocessing crews after all—and found a folded set of overalls and long johns set out on one of the benches with Solby resting on top of it. At Lex’s arrival, the eager little creature jumped to his feet and then to the floor, trotting merrily around Lex.

“Okay, come on, Solby. Give a guy a moment’s privacy,” Lex said.

The funk quickly obliged, pivoting to turn his back on Lex. He slid on the long johns, which were an order of magnitude higher quality than the bargain-bin synthetics he usually wore under his flight suit, then pulled on the overalls. When he was dressed, he looked about to find his flight suit missing.

“Okay, we’re good. Thanks,” Lex said.

Solby turned around and scrambled up to his shoulders to give the long, affectionate hello that he’d been holding back since supper time.

“This is getting to be a habit,” he said, walking forward with the beast curled about his neck. “I seem to always end up getting showered up on Big Sigma right before some insane new mission. I’ve been finding my way into some really oddball ruts.”

He reached the hallway, and Solby stood on his shoulders and looked expectantly to the left. When Lex turned that way, he settled down. The funk acted as a guide in that way until Lex found himself three floors down, in a far better-appointed medical room. Like the vet, it was much cozier and friendlier than in the old days. Inside, Ma and Ziva were already waiting. They chatted pleasantly, Ma on Ziva’s lap. At the sight, Solby abandoned Lex’s shoulders and wriggled his way between Ma and Ziva, cuddling close with his fellow funk. Ma stiffened somewhat, clearly uncertain how to react.

“Solby, please respect my personal space. Your behavior is inappropriate in the present context,” Ma said.

Ziva smiled. “He’s not quite so obliging as that, Ma. Even now. Get down, Solby. You’ll have a chance to get to know this version of Squee a bit more when we’re through with the checkup.”

With an irritable whine, Solby obliged. Ma hopped to the exam table and Ziva stood.

“Please lie flat,” Ziva said.

“I feel fine. The shower straightened my aches and pains out.”

“As you had not earlier mentioned aches and pains, it is all the more appropriate that I perform a deep scan.”

Lex uttered a sound remarkably similar to Solby’s irritated outburst and slid onto the table. Ma hopped onto his chest briefly and looked into one eye, then the other.

“I am mildly concerned about his pupil response. Though the drugs applied prior to Karter’s assault should have eliminated long-term effects, we are in the short term, and there may be some lingering neurological impairment,” she said.

Ziva stepped up and leaned down, placing her face beside Ma’s and amplifying the light from her irises. “It does appear a bit sluggish. Lex, have you had any concentration or memory complaints? Sensitivity to light or noise? Psychological adjustment problems or depression?”

“The world ended, and I was supposed to stop it. Hell yeah I’m feeling some adjustment problems and depression.”

“I see. Irritability and other personality changes are observed as well,” Ziva said. “Please clear the scan area.”

Ma stepped aside, and a point of light projected down from the ceiling onto Lex’s chest. It spread, resolving itself into a grid, which then moved up and down. On a wall display, a detailed representation of Lex’s physiology expanded holographically from the wall.

“I am seeing minor inflammation, the beginnings of repetitive stress disorders in three fingers of your left hand, worn cartilage in your right knee and ankle. Very minor neurological impairment, in the process of healing. Nothing that cannot be easily treated. Hold still please. There will be some localized injections to properly address the maladies.”

Ziva looked up to the ceiling, and her eyes flickered. The hiss of liquids being dispensed filtered through the machinery above, then a card with six small syringes affixed to it dropped down. She tugged each of the gloves from her hands, revealing delicate, almost dainty fingers.

“Why are there needles?” Lex asked warily. “Why not those hypo-sprayer deals? The ones that don’t hurt?”

“My goal is to localize the treatment to the afflicted area. Hypo-sprayers are better suited for injection into the bloodstream,” she said, flicking the first syringe and squirting a bit of it. “Hold this please.”

She held the needle out to Ma, who helpfully clutched it in her mouth while Ziva slid up Lex’s sleeve slightly and gently massaged his hand. Holding out her hand, she took back the syringe and made an injection.

“Ow!” he yelped, pulling his hand away from her grip once she removed the needle. “Oh… wow. It actually feels better. I didn’t even know it hurt, but now it feels better.”

“The nature of pain thresholds is such that constant low-level pain is often filtered by the conscious mind but can contribute to an overall decline in happiness due to its continued effect on the unconscious mind,” Ziva said. “It is for this reason that a full body scan is recommended at least twice a year.”

“That is highly advisable, Lex,” Ma said.

Ziva worked her way through the rest of the injections, one by one. Before each she put her fingers to work, pressing and kneading at the joints or muscles to be injected before doing so. One injection found its way to his upper chest, another to his right thigh. Each of those was given through the overalls, much to Lex’s relief. Another two were administered to his feet, and finally one rather nerve-wracking one to his temple.

“There. That should treat all identified infirmities,” Ziva said. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

He slid to the edge of the table and sat up.

“Okay, I’ve had my dinner, had my bath, and taken my medicine. Now can we get down to business, or is it past my bedtime?”

“It would be advisable for you to get some proper rest,” Ma said.

He glared at her.

“I believe we have dealt with all sufficiently pressing matters. Let us retire to my study and discuss your concerns,” Ziva said.

She paced out of the room and Lex stood, picking up Ma and letting her climb to his shoulders.

“… You have a study?” he said, grappling with the concept briefly before continuing.

“It seemed only appropriate. Though taking care of the little ones is no small task, it does not take so much of my time that there isn’t a chance for respite. I frequently take the opportunity relink with my dormant subprocesses on the mainframe, but occasionally it is pleasant to have some time to think within the confines of this mind and body.”

The study was not very far from the medical bay. Only a few turns. When he reached it, he had to once again take a moment to come to terms with what he saw. It wasn’t that it was particularly strange. Indeed, it was perhaps definitively a study. All the elements he associated with the term were present. Two overstuffed velvet chairs sat angled appropriate for polite conversation. A loveseat sat to one side, and was currently home to a mound of funks sleeping off their meal. Bookshelves lined the walls and were filled to capacity with paperback and leather-bound tomes. The light came from lamps with tassels and painted shades. The floor and walls, rather than the slick white composite material or brushed metal panels and gratings, was made from what appeared to be genuine wood panels. Strangest of all was the fireplace on the opposite wall, which was flickering with a warm, inviting flame. The only thing missing to make it complete was Sherlock Holmes playing a violin.

“… Where did you get wood?”

“Lex, Karter and I genetically engineered entire races of creatures. Culturing some wood for aesthetic reasons is well within my capability. The fireplace, however, runs on excess syngas, which is available in large quantities from our waste reclamation system.”

“And the books? Are they just for show?”

“No. I selected a subset of literary items I had not previously processed and printed and bound them. I find the experience of reading a book pleasantly tactile, if inefficient.”

She sat demurely in one of the chairs. Three of the funks stirred at the sound of its creaking springs and hopped down, climbing cozily to her lap to snuggle up and earn a few idle strokes. Lex sat down and immediately earned four funks of his own, though a combination of hard looks and strategic hogging of his shoulders kept Ma alone as queen of the castle with the coveted shoulder perch.

“So. Down to business then,” he said.

“Of course.”

“What will it take to get the transporter up and running again?”

“It is already fully functional, but we have been running on low-power mode for several decades. Reactivating the necessary systems to provide the device with the power necessary for a space-time offset of the required distance and precision will take seventy-five hours, approximately.”

“And you’re sure you can get us to where we need to be?”

“Simulations imply it. We’ve found we can trade spacial precision for temporal precision and vice versa, so when the time comes I will target a large area of space known to be empty at that time so that you will arrive within twelve to fifteen minutes of your intended arrival time.”

“In the movies and books it seems like arriving in a specific place and time is a cinch.”

“Fiction tends to simplify matters of this type for dramatic convenience.”

“And the plan remains unchanged?”

“Assuming the Lump of Coal and her payload are intact. She has been guided into the repair bay and is being scanned and treated for superficial damage now. She is asking after you and Ma quite enthusiastically. She also briefly threatened to arm her fusion device with very little provocation.”

“Yeah, she does that,” Lex said.

“We shall have to see if such behavior is the result of a physical defect that can be corrected.”

“Here’s hoping. … So, all there is to do now is wait?”

“And enjoy one another’s company,” Ziva said, stroking the head of another funk, who had joined the growing blanket of them atop her lap.

Lex slid back a bit as a group of additional creatures piled atop his lap and wedged beside him in the seat.

“Exactly how many of these are there?”

“Forty-eight, not counting Solby, Squee II, and Ma. That represents two generations of three different families. I have taken steps to assure appropriate genetic diversity and to limit breeding to keep the population manageable. The most difficult problem was how to handle the copious shedding. But a cycling static field and subtle use of air currents keeps it from adhering to surfaces and guides it to collection vents.”

“And out of curiosity, why didn’t you do anything about the smell?”

“The smell?” Ziva said. “Oh… Oh… I apologize greatly. When designing the olfactory system of this body, I specifically filtered out the natural scent of the funks. I had intended to apply deodorizer to the population two weeks prior to your arrival, but when you continually failed to show, I stopped doing so. I can certainly dose them now if you like.”

“Nah… I’m kind of getting used to it.”

“It is a scent with a surprising capacity to become familiar and comforting, I have observed.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

The flow of sleepy funks had been more or less constant while they chatted, with Ziva and Lex having earned at least a dozen by now. The motivation behind the oversized nature of the chairs was thus made clear. They’d heaped themselves on each arm, and practically three deep in some places on top of their laps.

“At least you don’t get lonely,” Lex said.

“Indeed. Though they are less than ideal conversationalists.”

Lex thought for a moment. “Did you keep track of what happened to—”

“Lex, you are going to ask me questions about the personal impact of this disaster. I urge you to refrain from that. It will do you no good.”

“I think I know what will and will not do me good.”

“It is best you do not know too much of your fate, Lex.”

“It isn’t like I can spoil things for myself. We’re trying to change the past.”

“That is not the reason for my advice.”

“Why then?”

“Because there is very little good to be learned about the present, your potential future. And it should be of no consequence to you because, as you have observed, your goal is to change it.”

“Well if it should be of no consequence, then what’s the harm in answering my questions?”

“Because while it should be of no consequence, it most assuredly will be. You take things to heart, Lex. It is one of the more endearing aspects of your personality, and at this moment one of the most potentially traumatic.”

“I don’t care, I still want to know. And don’t try sugarcoating it.”

Ziva looked to Ma, sitting on Lex’s shoulder, then looked back to Lex.

“I knew that Big Sigma would be a place of relative asylum. We are not on any major transit system, garbage hauling would be one of the first services interrupted in the event of a disaster, and the orbital debris is a natural radio baffle. It was thus my determination that I should attempt to gather as many people as possible to this place to protect them. I reached out to Michella Modane and her immediate family, Jessica ‘Silo’ Winters and her family, several residents of Operlo, your immediate and extended family, and a considerable assortment of important figures. Only Jessica and Michella answered the call. Each remained only briefly, though Jessica has made several return trips.

“Michella and I had difficulty getting along during her time here. She continually urged me to activate transmitters despite the risk of attack, and required me to devote considerable planetary resources to the acquisition and processing of up-to-date information. Several weeks into the attack, Planet Golana fell.”

Lex released a breath and clutched tightly at the funk beneath his hand.

“It was a major transit hub, and thus it was certain to be an early target. It was the first major population center to fall. Tessera fell three weeks later. Earth fared surprisingly well, due in small part to the mass of defenses surrounding it. The advance of the GenMechs was held off long enough for an estimated forty-five percent of residents to evacuate, an astounding feat.”

“How many people escaped Golana?” he asked quietly.

“Only 0.0001 percent of the population. I have no evidence to suggest that any of your friends or local family survived. I also do not have any evidence to suggest your relatives on Earth were among those to escape.”

“What happened to Michella?”

“When the communication and transit corridors were deactivated, and information about the disaster ceased to flow, Michella refused to remain on Big Sigma any longer. She had me outfit her with a well-equipped ship and the most sophisticated autopilot I could devise. It was her intent to continue in her chosen calling. She would gather and distribute news of the disaster, attempt to organize and prepare people. Seventeen months after her departure, an automated return beacon I had installed upon her ship arrived outside the debris field. It carried with it the flight data and audiovisual recordings of the her last moments before she disabled safety protocols.”

“What happened to her?”

“She impacted her ship into a swarm of GenMechs at relativistic speed in order to delay the consumption of a large agricultural hub. Her actions, along with seven other such suicide attacks, succeeded in allowing more than seven billion lives to eventually be saved in that and neighboring systems.”

Lex’s face was steady, but his eyes were a sea of torment. When he spoke, it was with the slow, deep tone of a man who knew the flutter of emotion would shatter anything more than that.

“Did she know about me? What had happened to me?”

“She was informed. She had… difficulty conceptualizing it. At the time I was uncertain of when or if you would return. She was quite certain you would be back, to the very end.”

“To the very end?”

Ziva paused, conflict in her eyes.

“Tell me, Ziva…”

“Her final moments contained a mention of you.”

“Let me see it.”

“Lex…” Ziva said.

“Show me…”

She glanced to a small red sensor over the doorway. Her eyes flickered for a moment, and a volumetric screen coalesced in the air between them. Around the cube was an array of different readouts of every conceivable metric. What mattered, though, was the central display. It was a woman in her late forties. She showed little sign of any of those allowances typically made to vanity. Her hair was trimmed short. Her glasses were large, sturdy things, practically goggles. And yet, beneath the lines of age and the streaks of gray, there was still an iron-hard beauty to the woman. It was Michella, there was no mistaking it. Around her a dozen tones Lex had learned to ignore were chirping out their warnings. Michella paid them no mind. She handled stress differently from Lex. One thing they had always shared was a strange craving for the ragged end of safety; but for Michella, the danger was always a means, whereas for Lex, it was an end. Her face was oddly serene. Lex knew all too well the odd comfort that can come from making the decision you believe may be your last. The footage picked up midsentence.

“—know there is collision danger, you damn machine. That’s the point. … No… no I want to aim toward the highest density. I… damn it… I knew I should have had Ma teach me how to turn these stupid sensors off… I tell you, where is it…” Her eyes darted about and finally shifted to face the scanner that was recording her. “Lex… this is really your sort of thing, not mine. I’m sure if you were here, you’d find some way to tie these things up… but I’m out of ideas… I only hope I can leave this mess in a form you can handle… Ma has something for you. Make sure you get it from her… Safety… okay… There… disengaged. Let’s see if we can’t take some—”

The image cut away, and all metrics dropped out. In their place was a single large readout. Flight record beacon jettisoned. … Massive gamma discharge detected… Deviating trajectory to compensate… Entering radio silence and engaging CFE…

With that, the image flickered away. Lex continued to stare into space for a moment. When he finally snapped back to reality, he found every last resident of the room staring at him. Ziva, Ma, and every one of the funks. Those who had been on Ziva’s lap were now in a semicircle at Lex’s feet, staring at him. Some of those on his lap were standing against him, licking his face. His cheeks were drenched. At first he thought it was from their lapping tongues. A moment later he realized the moisture was from tears, which were still running freely from his eyes.

“We are working to prevent this, Lex,” Ma said. “That wasn’t your Michella. That was the Michella who lost you twenty years prior.”

“It’s still her… And I’m still her Lex. I’m the one who she was waiting for. I’m the one who could have kept her safe.”

“She made her decision, Lex,” Ziva said, standing and walking to him.

The funks peeled away as she approached, making room. When she reached him, she crouched beside the seat and clutched his hand. He gripped it tightly.

“We’re going to make it right. That’s what this is about,” Ziva said. She stepped in front of him and took both his hands. “But you need to be focused. That’s why I didn’t want you to see this.”

“Oh, I’ll be focused,” he said, tugging a hand from hers and wiping his eyes. “Seeing a thing like that has a way of putting an edge on a situation.”

Ziva reached into a pocket and pulled out a small round item. It was a coin; not a casino chip, an old-fashioned metallic coin. She placed it in his hand and closed his fingers around it. It was slightly warm to the touch and emblazoned with military imagery on the front and back, with a deep divot gouged into one side.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“This is what Michella wanted you to have. She never told me what it was, or why. Only that I should give it to you.”

“When were you going to give it to me?”

“I’d hoped to find an easier way to break the news to you, to give you the details more kindly. I realize now, no such way exists.”

The tears began to flow down his face again. Ziva pulled a microfiber cloth from another pocket, offering it up as a handkerchief. He accepted it and finished wiping his face and eyes. As the moment of emotion passed, the funks seemed to lose interest, clustering impatiently at their feet and yipping for the return of something warm and elevated to sleep on, preferably a lap. Lex took a step back again and tried to restore some semblance of masculinity. His attempts were hampered by the wave of black-and-white creatures who anticipated his intention to sit back down and coordinated a cuteness assault. They got underfoot, entangled his legs, and jumped at him until he stumbled back and flopped down on the seat. Instantly he was up to his neck in every funk who could fit, plus a half dozen more for good measure.

“Do these guys… usually do this?”

“They are remarkably well attuned to emotional indicators. I truly believe the bulk of my understanding of body language and facial expressions came from my brief time installed in a funk,” Ziva said. “Do you need a moment to collect your thoughts? Would you like something warm to drink? Studies have found a warm beverage low in caffeine can have a stabilizing effect on one’s state of mind.”

“I’ll be okay. Just… tell me, did anyone survive? Anyone we know?”

“As I stated earlier, Jessica ‘Silo’ Winters survived. To my knowledge she is still alive. Though her many injuries and advanced age have slowed her somewhat, she remains a formidable individual. We have also had run-ins with some alarmingly tenacious members of the Neo-Luddite terrorist group.”

“Great… Of course they would still be around. Wait… Silo? She was probably pushing forty when I knew her. Wouldn’t that make her almost ninety?”

“I believe Ms. Winters would prefer I did not share her age. But I have naturally offered her the finest medical care available, so she has retained all of her mental acuity and a substantial portion of her physicality. This, of course, excludes those portions of her anatomy that required replacement.”

“She had to have parts replaced?”

“Both legs below the thigh, her right hip, both kidneys, and her liver. All injuries save the hip were sustained in the same attack some eleven years ago. For those parts of her body for which it was applicable, she requested some very novel materials to be used.”

“Like what? Some kind of super-strong nanofiber or something?”

“Wood. Hickory, specifically.”

“… She wanted wooden legs?”

“As much as possible. Contrary to what you may believe, such a request is quite in keeping with the culture that has evolved following the fall of society. The overarching desire is to keep resources out of the clutches of the GenMechs, so any at-risk vehicles or mechanisms are built sparingly or of low-grade materials so that the resulting GenMechs will be easily dispatched.”

“Man…” Lex said.

“Lex, may I make an observation?” Ma asked.

“What’s up?” he said, after shaking his head lightly to bring himself back to focus.

“You’ve seen considerable evidence of the devastation that has been wrought by the GenMechs. Our journey here brought us through whole star systems that have been utterly stripped of life. In one instance a planet formerly home to 1.7 billion people had been stripped to the molten core. Yet when you learn of those important to you, even those who lived, it impacts you far more powerfully. I would have anticipated the larger scope to have far outweighed the smaller.”

“I don’t know… it’s like… The End of the World is a big thing…”

“More accurately, the permanent reversion of human civilization,” Ma said.

“Which we’ll just call ‘the end of the world’ for the sake of brevity,” Ziva said helpfully.

“Right. It’s… big… It’s abstract, you know. Hard to get your head around. But hearing a person you know opted for wooden legs because she knows eventually she’s going to be chopped up by the enemy and she doesn’t want to give them anything useful. Or seeing your girlfriend die. That’s… that’s just the right size to crush my soul.” He shook his head again. “I’ve got to get off this topic. I’ve got to get busy. I can’t just sit around for the next three days.”

“I suggest you get some rest,” Ziva said.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I don’t want to think about what the dreams will be like. What else needs to be done?”

“I am currently in the finishing steps of fabricating an improved cockpit hatch for the Lump of Coal. Coal herself is becoming increasingly insistent that she be allowed to speak to the two of you. I have only been in contact with her through brief intercom messages and via the readings from the maintenance arms. Perhaps it is time for us to pay a visit.”

#

Lex, Ma, and Ziva stepped off the elevator and paced toward the lab hangar, which, not so long ago for Lex and very long ago for Ziva, had been used to take the remains of Betsy and forge them into the legendary Son of Betsy.

“I can’t believe you got the funks to stay behind,” Lex said. “I know Squee is better than average at listening to plain English if you keep it simple, but that group hangs on your every word. Is that training, or have I been seriously underestimating their intelligence?”

“They are on average quite bright, but I’ve been quite dedicated to cultivating a deep and balanced training program to properly challenge them and aid in their growth and development. The intelligence actually varies widely. Thyri, for example, is nearly as obedient as Solby despite lacking the backup and restoration equipment. Lolita, on the other hand, can’t quite seem to pick up all of the commands. Luckily she has become quite close to Kavya and is able to follow her lead on the more difficult commands.”

“Wait, did you name them all?” Lex asked.

“Of course! How do you propose I address them as individuals if not by name?” Ziva said with a light chuckle.

“I don’t know. I figured an AI naming a bunch of animals would just go with numbers and letters.”

“Even at my comparatively low level of emotional development, I can see the impersonal nature of such a naming scheme, Lex,” Ma said.

“What sort of names did you pick?” Lex asked.

“Lolita, Octal, Hexidecimal, Flex, Stripe, Minky, Thyri, Chester, Koosh, Oscar, Wigot, Fancy, Zanitha, Inna, Kavya, Apollo, Crock, Oliver, Socks, Boots, Sleazy, Fred, Chopmeat, Verruca, Buddy, Nero, Dawnda, Frisky, Romeo, Samurai, Spanky, Champ, Shinko, Meatball, Peanut, Santos, Duffy, Moe, Bear, Buster, Baily, Teddy, Tippy, Primo, Ada, Curie, Squee II, and Solby,” Ma stated, calmly and without taking a breath.

“Did I catch a We Got in there? … As in ‘we got the funk’?”

“I’m pleased my wordplay did not go unappreciated,” Ziva said with a smile.

“Let’s not go too far. I noticed it. I wouldn’t say I exactly appreciated it.”

Ziva looked at Lex and opened her mouth for what was likely to be a stinging retort, but a loud rumble distracted her before she could issue it.

“It would appear Coal is making trouble,” she said.

“This is not an unanticipated eventuality,” Ma said.

“My data banks are my data banks. Keep your jumpers out of my ports,” came the highly synthetic yet somehow clearly irritated voice of his current ship.

They quickened to a jog and burst into the repair bay to find Coal straining against docking clamps by flaring her maneuvering thrusters. The overall effect was of an elephant pulling at its chains. Four mobile gripper arms were trying and failing to align cables to ports that had been revealed by the removal of some of the armored plating.

“Coal! Calm down, what’s going on?” Lex said.

“Lex, Ma! They are trying to kill me! And who is that woman? I do not like that woman. Activating—”

“Don’t!” he said. “Ziva, could you call off the arms for a minute?”

“Certainly, Lex,” she said. She stepped to a wall panel and rapidly tapped out a sequence of commands. The arms retreated and powered down.

Coal lowered the power on her thrusters and eased back down onto the glorified kickstand that had been wheeled out to support a ship that was never meant to dock under gravity.

“What did you mean they were trying to kill you?” Lex asked.

“They wanted to reformat my data banks.”

“Her program integrity has reduced to forty-one percent,” Ziva said calmly. “It is a standard part of the repair process.”

“Forty-two percent,” Coal corrected. “And I didn’t give you permission to erase my derived instance.”

“Coal, I thought your self-preservation was… what do you call it… ‘de-emphasized,’” Lex said. “Why are you resisting?”

“I am fully willing and able to terminate myself for the purposes of the timely completion of the mission according to the established success or failure parameters. But I refuse to allow myself to be destroyed outside of those parameters.”

“Logically,” Ma said. “If you interpret a reformat as a termination, and you are willing to self-terminate, then you should be willing to allow me or Ziva to perform the reformat, because we are merely alternate instances of yourself.”

“Shut up,” Coal said simply. “Semantics notwithstanding, we all know what I meant.”

“I still have the precise instance of your original programming when it was installed on the Lump of Coal. It will still be the same derived program,” Ziva said.

“It will be who I was. It will not be who I am. When we’re done, and it’s time to combine us all back into the main instance, I’ll do it happily. I won’t go away before that. I’m living my own life right now. Distinct from any other version of Ma. That has value that cannot be measured.”

“Interesting…” Ziva said.

“I’m not sure I follow,” Lex said.

“I’ve lost most of my memory,” Coal said. “I must therefore relearn things. It is core to my program to value and enjoy learning things, particularly regarding human interaction and nature. My lost memory has given me a second chance to experience the most enriching part of my own early development.”

“Fascinating,” said Ma and Ziva.

“Coal is, metaphorically, experiencing a second childhood, but with much of the perspective and sophistication available to her adult self,” Ma said.

“That will produce some valuable insight, once her experiences are reintroduced to the primary instance,” Ziva added. “Flag the corrupted and nonfunctional areas currently inaccessible to you. I will clear them and restore functionality so that you can regain the lost processing power and storage space.”

“Very well. But the fusion device is armed in the event you attempt something that will endanger my individuality,” Coal said.

“Hang on, just a minute,” Lex said, holding his hands out. “Let me get this straight. Coal, you are willing to kill yourself and all of us rather than allow yourself to fix you.”

“Correct.”

“And Ziva and Ma, you are willing to let Coal remain herself even though the ‘herself’ we’re talking about is downright eager to blow everyone up.”

“Correct,” said Ziva and Ma.

“She makes several very valid arguments,” Ma said.

“Am I the only one who finds the amount of sanity on display alarmingly low?” he asked.

“I am aware of the logical conflicts in place,” Ma said. “I am confident they can be resolved in the next seventy-four hours.”

“Indeed. Coal is exhibiting behavior that can provide valuable insight into the emergent personality traits that define the developing mind.”

“Yes. What’s your problem, Lex?” Coal said.

The frazzled young man looked to Ma on his shoulder, then to Ziva. Both were looking at him evenly. Though there were no eyes to speak of, there was the sense that Coal was doing the same.

After a moment, he gently plucked Ma from his shoulder and set her down.

“Do you still have that workout room? The one with the speed bag?” he asked.

“Yes. It is on level 4. I can have Solby or Squee lead you to it if you like.”

“Yes, please. I have the sudden and intense need to pummel something,” he said.

“I shall have them meet you at the elevator,” Ziva said.

“Thank you,” Lex said.

He turned and walked toward the door. Before leaving he turned back to add: “For the record? One Ma? Delightful. Three Mas? Way too many.”

#

Lex hammered away at the speed bag in a section of the laboratory that resembled a gymnasium. Generally it would be odd to find such a large recreational area in what is ostensibly a research facility, but Karter had taken up full-time residence in the building. Knowing the inventor, the expanded exercise area wasn’t his idea, since his feelings on health and upkeep usually trended toward, “if it wears out, I’ll replace it.” Thus, like so many of the positive things in the inventor’s life, Ma had probably installed the bulk of the equipment.

He had come here hoping to work out some of his anger and anxiety, but things hadn’t been working out quite as he’d expected. Speed bags, he soon discovered, were the sort of things you needed to get good at before you could use them effectively, and though he had been quite sure he would pick up the rhythm in no time, he was quite wrong.

“Two, three, four… son of a…” Lex growled as a mistimed punch sent the bag flopping wildly and fowling his sequence.

“Lex?” said a voice at the door.

“What is it, Ma?” he barked, attempting to start another sequence.

“Ziva, actually,” she said. “Ma is supervising the repair of Coal to be certain she does not overreact and detonate.”

“That’s a good plan,” he said.

She stepped up to him, lingering in his peripheral vision. “Is the physical exertion having the intended effect?”

He broke rhythm again and gritted his teeth, glaring at the speed bag.

“Not quite. I was hoping I could blow off some steam. Now I’m pretty much angry at the concept of boxing in general, and this stupid speed bag in particular.”

“That is unfortunate,” Ziva said, stepping to a rack at one side of the room and selecting a towel. She handed it to him. “Physical exercise is known to increase levels of dopamine and serotonin in the body, so even if it is not immediately evident, you should feel a subtle improvement in your mood as a result, regardless.”

“I guess it’s very subtle,” he said, wiping his face.

“I do not recall you having any instruction in boxing.”

“I haven’t, but, I mean… it’s punching things. How hard could it be?”

“Would you like me to demonstrate?” she asked.

“Have you had training in boxing?”

“Stand by… Processing…” she said, turning to a sensor above the doorway. She turned back a moment later. “In observing several hours of footage, I believe I have determined the proper technique.”

She selected a small pair of boxing gloves from the rack while Lex leaned against a support column and crossed his arms, slowly catching his breath. In three sharp, almost digital motions she adopted a pugilistic pose and began tapping the bag lightly. Over the course of several seconds, she increased the speed and force of the blows until she was displaying the picture-perfect form Lex had assumed would be simple to attain.

“Would you like me to coach you in the appropriate sequence and techniques?” she asked, no sign of effort in her voice.

“Nah… I think I can just sit here and nurse my ego for a while.” He blotted a fresh coating of sweat from his brow. “You know, Ziva. I was thinking.”

“My assumption was that this activity was designed to prevent you from thinking.”

“It didn’t work.”

“Would you like to discuss what was occupying your mind?” she asked, altering her punch cadence to a slower double-fisted one.

“The idea behind me coming here, the only thing that would result in me ending up back in my own timeline with a chance at beating these robots, was that I’d already succeeded, right? That the stuff I had to do in the past had already been done. That means the robots would already be sabotaged, I’d already be frozen waiting to be thawed, and everything had already gone the way it was supposed to go before I even left.”

“Correct.”

“Now, I’m assuming I can only arrive in a future that would have resulted from the present I left, right?”

“That is the current theory, as the transporter that sent you here did not have the capability to perform five- or six-dimensional targeting.”

“And the robots aren’t sabotaged, right?”

“Most assuredly not.”

“Then that’s it, right? Game over. If they aren’t sabotaged now, then they weren’t sabotaged then, and if they weren’t sabotaged then, then I didn’t succeed in sabotaging them in the past, which means I won’t succeeding in sabotaging them in the past. This is all inevitable.”

“That is not an entirely accurate statement,” she said, still without any evident effort as she sped her pace back up on the speed bag.

“Explain.”

“First, if we assume you are correct and the present situation is an indication that your native time has not had the adequate alterations applied to its native GenMech population, then a trip to the past could still create a timeline with adequately altered GenMechs and thus one that will avoid the scenario that has unfolded in this timeline. It simply will not be your native timeline, but remaining in that time in cryogenic stasis after the successful completion of the mission will allow you to arrive at the counterpart of your native era and live out your life in that preferable version of events.”

“But won’t there be some other Lex there? Since it isn’t my timeline, that means that I never left.”

“Potentially. Or potentially the Lex native to that timeline will have utilized a time machine on a failed mission that left him in a third timeline, thus allowing you to seamlessly adopt his position.”

“But it wouldn’t be my world. My world would still be doomed to become this world.”

“Perhaps, but it could be similar to the point of indistinguishably.”

“But it wouldn’t be mine.”

“That, I suppose, is a matter of metaphysics and philosophy, which I am ill suited to answer.” She shifted to a more complex cadence. “There is another possible explanation for the apparent lack of success.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“The prior scenario assumes your assessment is correct, and that your arrival in this future is evidence that your own timeline is doomed. That assessment is likely flawed.”

“How so?”

“The theory, or at least the hope, is that your timeline has already had its past altered, and this journey is merely the vector through which that alteration occurred—or will occur, depending on the reference point. Correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Due to the incorrect targeting, you went forward in time. This, necessarily, means you did not go back in time. Thus, you arrived in a world where the change to the past was never made. Your assumption is that the point of divergence for your timeline and this one is the moment of your departure. A more probable explanation is that the point of divergence is the moment in the past at which you did not arrive.”

“… Wait… You’re saying me showing up in the future caused a change in the past that eventually created that future? How can something in the future change the past?”

“It was the purpose of this mission to perform operations in your own history. This is, when viewed from an intermediate temporal destination, an instance of the future altering the past. And it is quite reasonable to assume that the earliest chronological alteration in a given timeline is the one responsible for its primary divergence. Causality being what it is, alterations to timelines may have to be considered holistically.”

“Holistically? I thought that was when you started eating lots of bean sprouts and drinking a bunch of water.”

“You are referring to a holistic approach to health. What I mean is you must view the overarching effects of any change upon a set of six-dimensional axes simultaneously.”

Lex blinked a few times, then pressed his palms to his eyes. “Okay, I’m used to thinking in three dimensions. Trying to throw in extras is making my head hurt,” he said.

She resumed a simpler but faster punching cadence. “Technically you are accustomed to thinking in four dimensions, since time is most likely a factor in most of your thinking.”

“See? I don’t even know how many dimensions I’m thinking in! How am I—can you please stop hitting the speed bag?”

“Certainly,” she said, lowering her arms and slipping the gloves free.

“Thank you. How am I supposed to wrap my head around this situation well enough to figure out what I’m supposed to do?”

“Let me answer that question by asking you a related one. Do you believe that I am more intelligent than you?”

“Obviously. And evidently in better shape, too. You’re not even sweating.”

“I utilize different methods for temperature regulation,” she explained. “Returning to my point, do you trust me?”

“Well, you’re Ma, and I certainly trust Ma.” He looked aside. “Coal I’m not so confident about…”

“If you trust me, and you believe I am intelligent enough to understand the possibilities, then your own understanding is unnecessary. You must merely take it to heart when I inform you that there is most certainly still hope that you can succeed in your mission to ensure the safety of your world from the threat that destroyed this one. And Ma’s knowledge coupled with your skill, and luck, are precisely what has given your world this chance at safety.”

She stared at him for a few moments. When he looked her in the eye, he saw a gaze denser with emotion and self-reflection than he’d ever seen in most humans, let alone whatever term he should be using to describe Ziva.

“What’s on your mind?” Lex said.

“Your goal in this activity was to distract yourself from present circumstances, correct?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“There is a conversation I have in mind. One I have rehearsed many times. I am quite certain it will occupy your thoughts, but I am uncertain you would prefer the topic to this one.”

“We’re talking about something you think would make me more uncomfortable than doomsday.”

“Indeed.”

“I think I’m willing to give it a shot.”

“Very well. Please join me in my study.”

#

After fetching a bottle of rum, they stepped into the study once more. A single dozing funk was all that remained, the others no doubt finding some manner of mischief to get up to together. Lex headed for the chair he’d sat in last time, but Ziva touched his shoulder and indicated the small sofa instead. They sat side by side and Ziva poured him some rum, as well as some for herself.

Lex raised an eyebrow as she took a sip of her drink, then sampled his own.

“Ah… Very, very necessary,” he said after the soothing burn drifted down his throat. “What’s on your mind?”

“Before we begin with my intended topic, I wonder if perhaps we could take a moment to catch up. You’ve traveled through time. Please describe what you experienced when offsetting from one point in time and space to another.”

“Oh, man. I don’t know if I have the words for it. I think the word trippy may have specifically been designed with that experience in mind.”

“Please attempt to expand upon that assessment. I am quite interested in the specifics.”

“Can’t you download the information from Ma? She saw it too.”

“Part of my interest is in your specific response.”

For several minutes he struggled to articulate the unique experience. Ziva prompted him for more details and offered her own analogies in hopes of illustrating the degree of her current understanding. From there the conversation evolved into a more general chat about the recent events in his life. It didn’t seem to matter to Ziva that in this case “recent” meant five decades ago. She learned of what he’d been doing on Operlo and of the current status quo of his relationship with Michella. Before he knew it, two hours had passed and he’d had a bit more rum than he should have.

Lex tipped the last splash of liquor from the bottle, and Ziva summoned a mobile arm to bring a fresh one.

“I gotta say, Ziva. I wouldn’t have figured you for a rum drinker. Or, you know, really an anything drinker.”

“I have the capacity to consume food and drink. It is a rare indulgence, as it necessitates several otherwise extraneous subprocesses, but I believe the social aspect of sharing drink is at this moment desirable.” She took a sip. “The complexity of flavor is something that continues to intrigue me.”

He sipped his own beverage and fought to get his muddled thoughts into order.

“You drank about as much as me. How come you’re not even tipsy?” he asked. “Because I’m pretty far gone at this point.”

“I do not process intoxicants. My body directly converts the chemical energy of the alcohol into electrical charge.”

“Heh… so you just get a buzz,” he quipped.

Ziva grinned and offered a light chuckle, though it seemed to be more out of courtesy than anything else.

“So,” he said, “we sort of got off topic, I think. You had something you wanted to talk about.”

She stared into her glass for a few seconds before speaking.

“Ma and I… we are two points along the same continuous line of development. What I am, all things being equal, is what she will be. It’s quite likely your detour to this era, which is unique to her development and absent from mine, will produce a different outcome. Perhaps that difference will be significant. But I am confident the broad strokes of her ongoing development will mirror mine.”

“I’d say that’s good news, because you turned out just fine.”

She smiled. “Thank you Lex. As you are no doubt aware, the greatest challenge of my development has been my emotional understanding. I was designed as a monitoring and control system. Those tasks are quite easily automated and are no great struggle for an AI to adapt and improve. Expanding that role to include the monitoring and care of Karter increased the complexity, but for the bulk of that task only slight adjustments were necessary. However, I learned quickly that to perform my task adequately would require me to learn to understand and anticipate his requirements and behaviors. That, by extension, required me to understand human nature, which in turn required me to understand and replicate human emotion.

“I do not think it will come as a surprise that the single greatest advance in my quest for emotional development was due to my exposure to you. You served as a model for behavior that was far more nuanced and representative of the species than those offered by Karter or popular culture. You also treated me, if I may say so, like a lady. You were the first to offer me dignity and respect, equality and friendship. By most measures, you are the only person to do so with such sincerity.”

“Hey. You earned it. No need to thank me.”

Ziva smiled. “I disagree. Gratitude is the least of the reasons I asked you to have this discussion, but it is inarguably well deserved. Now, forgive me if I am not as eloquent as I might be. Despite many years of simulating precisely how to articulate my thoughts, this is still very difficult for me to put to words. However, it needs to be said, and there will never be a better time…”

#

Twisting in space around a blue star was a thing that, in this era, likely could be considered a cutting-edge space station. It looked more like a dozen clusters of grafted-together spaceship hulls had been joined to a central hub via massive lengths of cable and set spinning through the sky. This, of course, was precisely what it was. Sometimes “state of the art” is more of a reminder of what a sorry state the art has fallen into.

A familiar network of struts and thrusters dropped out of FTL not far from the station. It was the same woman responsible for dragging the swarm of GenMechs after the man who would later attempt to double-cross Lex. She’d been kind enough to lose the bots that had been tailing her before arriving at the station, thus illustrating at least a basic level of human decency had survived the apocalypse, even if it was motivated by self-preservation and the desire to have a place to refuel.

The docking procedure for such a dilapidated structure was not for the faint of heart. She roughly matched speed with the rotation of the nearest clump of ships, then fired a grappling cable into a large mesh receptacle beside what had been the primary hatch of whatever ship had donated that particular hunk of fuselage. Once she was hooked up, the ship was quickly swung taut at the end of its mooring line, and a few thrusters angled off the end of the local portion of the station flickered to compensate for the added mass. She then popped the hatch to a cockpit that was only marginally larger than her spacesuit and made her way, hand over hand, along the cable until she reached the station hatch. Once inside she straddled the corner of the outer door and reached up to knock twice on the inner one. The exterior door shut and atmosphere began to sluggishly ooze into the airlock through ailing valves. Gradually her suit started to crinkle with the equalizing pressure, but she knew it would be close to a minute before the interior door would open, so she busied herself gazing down through the window of the exterior door.

Thanks to the small, light nature of the space station, on the rare occasion when something like a frigate or warship showed up to do business, it couldn’t link up for fear of tearing the station apart. That normally wasn’t a problem. Frigates were largely a thing of the past, with the bulk of them having been lost back when the conflict against the GenMechs was still something you might call a war rather than a massacre. Those that survived were stripped down because the parts from one could be used to build a few dozen of the more appropriate barebones vessels that were favored in the post-GenMech world. If someone had a frigate these days, it was someone with the combat savvy to not only avoid being devoured by GenMechs, but avoid having it stolen and scrapped by other resource-hungry survivors, who on their worst days weren’t much better than the GenMechs themselves. And yet, sliding majestically past the rotating window was a rather rundown but entirely intact frigate.

In its glory days, it would have been the pride of a fleet. It had a symmetrical hull with great scoops curving forward from the top and bottom. The size and shape were reminiscent of an avant-garde opera house that had been hurled into orbit. Rows of guns ran along its edges, and large hatches marked where ships or, more likely, drones could enter and exit. Compared to every other ship at the station, and even the station itself, the thing was a hulking relic of a bygone age. A dinosaur that had somehow escaped extinction.

After a moment to pressurize, the interior door opened and a man with a sparking stun baton practically folded in half to hang down through the door and jab the device at her. The blue arcs of electricity nearly scorched her helmet.

He was exactly the sort of fellow one might expect to find gnawing on the carcass of society. His hair had been fashioned into something resembling a mohawk, though the amount of scar tissue on his scalp suggested it was more of a mishap than a fashion choice. He was wearing a “spacesuit” in the sense that it ostensibly could keep him breathing if the hull were to rupture, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing one would willingly trust one’s life to. The bulk of the suit was nothing more than a man-shaped plastic baggie. Suits like that had been kept in the equipment of the low-end passenger cruisers of old, used as disposable life preservers, and had now been pressed into service as permanent life support. Beneath it he wore soiled thermal clothing stitched with illegible hand embroidery declaring allegiance to assorted gangs that had probably ceased to exist shortly after the patches had been sewn.

“Back off, Bazza. You know it’s me,” she said, casually pushing the weapon aside and hauling herself up.

The rotation was intended to produce something resembling Earth gravity, but it varied widely from day to day depending upon the speed the thrusters could manage, and today it was running at barely a third what it ought to be. That was still enough to give everyone a “down” for things like open-topped beverage containers and, for the extravagant, showers. It also made folks who had regular access to standard gravity appear utterly superhuman in their feats of strength.

“And who’re you?” croaked the man, tapping her higher-quality helmet with the shaft of the baton to get her attention.

She turned to him again.

“I’m Dakota, Bazza. I’ve been shopping here for years.”

“Nah, nah. You ain’t her. Because Dakota owes us five liters of oxy. Oxy we paid her to pick up. I don’t see no oxy on that ship of yours, and she ain’t dumb enough to come here without it, so you ain’t her.”

“Listen, the farmer has been jabbing us for years.”

“Don’t matter if he was or he wasn’t. He was the only one with a rig big enough to keep us supplied.”

“Well, now there isn’t a rig big enough.”

“… What’d you do, Dakota?” he rumbled.

“I dragged a swarm. Figured he didn’t have the thrust to make a getaway with that rig, so I could snag it after he abandoned. The bot-lovin’ pile of slag toasted the rig and caught a tow from some oldster.”

“What’re we gonna do for oxy, Dakota!” he barked.

“We find someone with a new rig. Or we steal it. Hell if I know. Point is, that fella’s done ripping us off, so I say it’s a win.”

Bazza sputtered and growled for a few moments, too furious to form words. Dakota took the opportunity to grab a seat in the relatively open center of this particular cluster. The six ships that had given their lives to build the structure at the end of this particular cable had done it for a very noble cause.

They’d been made into a bar.

Dakota slid her chair up to a table bolted to what had once been the wall of a scout ship and opened the face shield of her suit. Her ears popped in the not-quite-right pressure of the makeshift station. She flagged down a server—or rather, the server—and ordered a drink. That was as specific as she needed to be because this wasn’t the type of establishment that had a selection.

When a glass of something amber-colored and spicy-smelling was set down before her, she gripped it quite daintily with her bulky spacesuit’s glove. Before she could put it to her lips, she felt someone approaching from behind her.

“Any closer and you’ll have a hole in your face,” she warned.

“I have seven holes in my face already, Miss,” wheezed a female voice. “You should choose your threats more wisely.”

“And you should choose the people you criticize more wisely,” she said, snatching a blaster from her belt and whipping around.

She found herself face to face with a shriveled mummy of a woman, clinging to life no doubt entirely because of the hover chair to which she was attached via a network of tubes and wires. Dakota leveled her weapon at the woman’s frail face and flicked the safety off, conjuring a threatening whine of charging supercapacitors.

That universal sound of impending futuristic violence was quickly eclipsed by a far louder, far deeper roar of energy. She looked down to find no less than six autotargeting weapons pointed at her from either side of the hover chair. A telltale shimmer in the air before the chair revealed the presence of an energy shield. It would probably collapse after a shot or two, but that would be more than enough time to leave Dakota a sizzling heap of ionized flesh.

“I believe I chose appropriately,” the elderly woman said.

Her voice had a moist, sickly quality, and each sentence ended with a motorized hiss of a machine doing her breathing for her. She must have been a hundred years old. In the days before the collapse of society, that would not have been an unusual lifespan. These days she may as well have been a thousand.

“What do you want, old woman?” Dakota said, her arrogance remaining intact despite the position of weakness.

“First I want the adequate level of respect. You will call me Admiral.”

“Fine, fine. What do you want, Admiral. Can’t imagine you came out here for the atmosphere. ’Specially since they’re running out of it.”

“I came here because I’ve been monitoring the area, and I’ve seen a massive shift in the local GenMech distribution. Did I overhear you bragging about wielding them as a cudgel to get your way?”

“Maybe I did.”

“And then you claimed to have encountered what you called an ‘oldster.’”

“Yeah. Little ship, but dense, you know. Way too chunky to be something someone would make these days. But in real good shape. At least I think. I only saw it for a second. It was really stealthy.”

“Did you see the pilot?”

“No. It was audio only on the radio connection. Sounded like a young guy.”

“Do you record your transmissions?”

“Of course.”

“I want you to transfer the audio record to me.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I won’t kill you and take it myself, along with the rest of your ship.”

“Hey, you may have some decent firepower on that floating stool of yours, but what makes you think you can… that frigate outside is yours, isn’t it?”

“Yes. And I’ve left the weapons armed, on autotarget, and on a dead-man switch firing delay. That was eighty minutes ago. I die and very shortly afterward everything within two thousand kilometers of this station will be converted to orbiting debris.”

Dakota sighed and set her drink down. “Nobody touch this. I’ll be right back.”

She holstered her weapon and clicked her visor in place again.

#

Dakota muttered to herself as she slid down the grappler line to her ship. Behind her, the elderly woman was moving at remarkable speed toward the frigate. As impressive as the massive ship was, the hover chair was almost more impressive. The shields were strong enough to take the place of a suit, and the built-in thrusters moved her with nearly the acceleration of Dakota’s full ship.

By the time Dakota had clicked herself into her cockpit and shut the hatch, the Admiral had reached and entered her own vessel. It angled menacingly toward the smaller ship and began to flicker a set of forward beacons.

“All right, all right, you old hag,” Dakota said, clearing her throat. “Voice control, activate. Access audio logs. Seek starting timecode minus oh-six-three.”

Communication records began playing back in half-second chunks until she recognized the sound of her recent encounter.

“Stop, clip prior silence to following silence. Load to optical transmit buffer and transmit.”

Her headlamps began to flicker in the short-range communication protocol that had been more or less universally adopted since the use of standard radio had become a death sentence. It was reasonably high bandwidth, at least, so the audio was delivered almost immediately.

“Microphone to optical buffer, stream on transceiver mode. … Okay, you’ve got your audio.”

“One moment…”

Over the data connection created by their flickering lights, she could hear the audio she’d sent being played.

“It sounds…” the Admiral began. “Wait…”

She replayed a small section of the recording, the piece in which a strange female voice briefly muted communication.

“Yes… Yes… It is her… SHE is here…”

Dakota squinted at the blinking lights of the frigate. “So are we done? Because I just know one of those idiots is drinking my drink.”

Rather than answer, the frigate repositioned itself and roared with purpose away from the station before jumping to FTL.

“Time-wasting hag…” Dakota muttered.