Alien Purgatory Read online

  Part Three: Redemption

  Agnostic: One who holds that the ultimate cause (God) and the essential nature of things are unknown or unknowable or that human knowledge is limited to experience.[ii]

  The Sheriff’s Department Space Cruiser Mark Burgess was a long way from home. Its target had been located close to the imagined line separating the region of space controlled by the Union of Galaxies from the Wilderness. The fight ship had last been observed here and in fact still operated just past the border. Its cunning owner would never allow the profitable business to drift into Union space, but he skirted the edges near the planets closest to the limit. Consequently the proprietor made itself rich beyond measure off the boarding fee, betting, and concession purchases of Union citizens.

  Several members of the Rotagonian Space Force had witnessed the target inside this floating spectacle just outside their boundaries. Rotagon, a planetary member of the Union of Galaxies, contracted with the Sheriff’s Department Space Force for additional protection in the outer spaces around their planet. The Rotagonian Space Force protected Rotagon inner space. The soldiers had reported seeing the construct to their superior. Word of the sighting had been forwarded to the Sheriff’s Department and went up the ranks to grace the desk of the Sheriff. He shared the file with the Union of Galaxies Civilian Board of Directors. Discussions ensued. They decided to send the Space Cruiser Mark Burgess to investigate the veracity of this report.

  Within the confines of the SDSF Mark Burgess, Captain Frank Jensen, Delgado Whitaker M.D., and Commander Leesl Reehn examined the reports above the holotable. They flipped aside the original sighting report and looked over one from Earth. This document described the target as a construct created on Earth in 2049 for use in combat and security. Earth had transmitted this information to the Union’s Civilian Board of Directors almost a year ago within a hastily compiled historical document transmission.

  Constructs had superior, resilient, carbon fiber composite skeletons, and humanoid bodies had been grown around them. Their original genome had been altered by replacing specific genomic regions with fragments of the DNA of a variety of species, chosen to enhance certain characteristics desirable for warfare. Primarily human, the constructs’ introduced animal traits increased their longevity, stamina, strength, and the ability to suppress pain and heal rapidly. Their muscles were particularly dense and the connective tissues stronger than a human’s, but more elastic. They were able to regrow organs and flesh lost in battle or to removal. Their immunity had been manipulated at the molecular level to allow their bodies to accept the alien grafts, and also so they wouldn’t experience disease. Dr. Whitaker found this most impressive.

  “These are lost sciences. No further information on the project was transmitted before the pox overwhelmed Earth. Other than this one report, everything else we think we know regarding the constructs is folklore. If we retrieve this thing we’ll learn volumes about that time in our history.”

  “Not to mention the immunity.” Leesl stated. “Doc, is this a crapshoot? Could immunity still be present in the construct after all these decades?”

  “What we have here is a creature whose immune system has been enhanced. During the construction, scientists introduced into them an experimental series of cocktail DNA vaccines. The inoculants were developed from samples to protect them from all then known human diseases. Since these constructs are the only ones humans ever created, and the details have been lost, today the science is theoretical and no one can answer that question until we retrieve one and do some exploring.”

  “Didn’t your ancestors sell the survivors to spacers?” Reehn asked.

  “Those that survived our expansion into space were sold, according to legend. The receipts in this report might support that rumor, look, but they need to be enhanced. I can’t read them,” Doc replied.

  “Only twelve remained of the two hundred originally created,” Captain Jensen said.

  “No others have been found? Just this one?” Leesl asked.

  “None have been located, but these receipts may help us find them,” Doc repeated.

  The Captain took a moment to forward the documents, with orders to enhance them and send them back ASAP. “The other eleven constructs could be anywhere. They’re probably out in the Wilderness, or someone would have said something.”

  Doc agreed. “We got lucky, Frank, Leesl, so lucky. Earth managed to send the information out and an Attempt to Locate was issued throughout Union space. Some Rot fighter jocks went on leave and spotted this one, and they weren’t too stupid to report. That the creature is so close to us is a miracle. If this is our construct, we must get the thing back. The Interplanetary Institution for Disease Control and Prevention identified the pox as a combination of possibly up to four different pathogens. God knows how the Nams manipulated the diseases, or where they got the original material. Maybe they attained a construct and reverse engineered from the thing’s immunity. Otherwise they somehow went into our infectious disease banks on Earth and took samples, which suggests human culpability. We can study the construct’s genome and may be able to discover how the vaccine cocktails were developed and recreate them. This might work, but if not, my colleagues are working on developing vaccines from samples of victims. One way or the other… and, in case you hadn’t heard, three more worlds initiated quarantines in the last two weeks.”

  “What does that leave you with?” Leesl asked.

  Captain Jensen answered. “All the human inhabited trade planets are quarantined. Only the planets which are self-sufficient and allowed no outside contact remain unaffected. Four hundred and seventy-eight of the eighteen hundred cruisers and five thousand of the twenty-two thousand military ships escaped infection. Today five thousand four hundred and seventy-eight functioning vessels and their crews are still active. That’s five million military personnel and two hundred thirty-nine thousand Sheriff’s Department personnel. We’ve lost Earth, the original colony worlds, except for the self-sufficient, and we’re losing the trade planets fast.”

  “We’re running out of time,” Doc said.

  “And people. There’d better be a construct in that arena ship, but how do we get the thing out? Buy it?” Leesl asked.

  “The Board convinced three Rotagonian gamblers to try to purchase it. They’re Union contract mechanics who’ve patronized that business for the nearly the length of their entire adult lifetimes. As you’re aware, Rotagons enjoy double the lifespan of humans. These three confirmed the fighter has the exact physical characteristics the constructs are described to have. They confirm that particular creature’s been headlining on Spauch’s ship as long as they’ve been betting there. They reported they’d seen the construct take such a horrible beating once they thought it must have died, but later they saw it fighting again, and have since,” the Captain said.

  “Could there be more than one on that ship?” Doc sounded hopeful.

  “That’s not the general consensus. The fighter’s introduced as ‘Ghe-nye’. The gamblers think there’s only the one, but I imagine Spauch may have purchased more. Maybe he rotates them. We can’t know until we get those receipts back and even then, they’re slaves. He might have sold, traded, even acquired more from whoever purchased the others.”

  “According to the Attempt to Locate describers and the descriptions from the packet, the constructs look similar,” Leesl said, flipping through them again. “Why so few pics? Their construction must be documented, at least.”

  “This is all that we received. Earth tried hard to get significant information off the planet before the population succumbed. We’re lucky to have this.” Doc paused in thought. “If the same construct is being fought over and over, that’s proof of its lifespan, healing capabilities, and pain tolerance.” He flipped through the holo document. “The female gender and breast suppression was theorized to keep the warriors own distractions to a minimum. No sensitive bulges to worry about smacking, though urinating is easier for males than for f
emales in combat and crowded situations lacking privacy. I guess since they’re all females with extreme physical skills, the possibility of rape is nullified. They can’t reproduce and don’t menstruate. The wonder is nothing went wrong. Here’s a brief sentence about ‘qualities of attraction’ lending themselves to natural leadership, an apparent side effect they didn’t count on that turned out to be useful.”

  “If the owner of the arena ship owned two or more, he would fight them both. So we can presume he only owns the one. He’s all about the money, which is why we can’t buy the construct from him. It’s one of his best fighters, has been for nearly two centuries. Anyway, if this is a construct, which one it is doesn’t matter,” the Captain poked the holo and retrieved the enhanced receipts, “but these show that the construct designated as ‘G-9SRO25T’ was sold to ‘Spauch’ in 2060.” He touched the holo again. “Spauch is the current and historical owner of this arena ship.”

  “One hundred and sixty-three years ago. How long’s Spauch been in business?” Doc asked.

  “As long as anyone remembers. Centuries, maybe a millennium,” Captain answered.

  “So if this construct is one of Spauch’s best fighters, he won’t sell. Spauch owns the ship and the slaves and makes his fortunes off them. I don’t suppose he’d let us borrow the thing or even give it to us to save your race?” Leesl asked.

  “Spauch is a Tzlotzl,” Captain said.

  “That’s a negative,” Leesl said, “so how do we take this thing? We can’t buy it; we can’t appeal to Spauch’s better nature. We have no leverage.” She touched the display. “The ship has big ordnance, an army, fighter planes, and pilots. Can we steal it?”

  “Can we?”

  Leesl scanned for a minute. She found the information she needed. “This ship’s design is alien. We don’t have and can’t seem to acquire the blueprints. A lot of goods were offered to what were thought to be the few traders who might have the designs or know how to get them. Nobody came up with anything,” Leesl said.

  “I don’t like where this is going,” Doc sighed and leaned back.

  “No, Doc, you don’t,” Leesl agreed. “We may ultimately be forced to threaten Spauch with the end of his existence unless he turns the damned thing over to us. We might need to back up our threat. We don’t know who Spauch’s allies are in the Wilderness, and we’ll be threatening and possibly destroying one of the Union planets’ favorite sources of entertainment.”

  “Just us? This ship? Don’t be foolish,” Doc said.

  “No, not just this ship, the Department fleet. And probably the military. I don’t see any other choice. The pox is close to ending the human race. We must force Spauch to turn the construct over to you.”

  Frank corrected her. “Three cruisers are on the way. Too many ships are in dry orbit because of the pox. Incursions are becoming a problem on most of the Border so the armed forces are stretched thin. We can’t expect any help from them. We’re expected to get this done ourselves. The remainder of the Force is occupied securing the outer spaces of the worlds closest to the recent perimeter incursions. On the other hand, several planets have stopped paying for protection we obviously can no longer provide. We’re going to pull back and give up Union space. We must acquire the construct before we lose territory, since the Border will contract. We don’t want to be caught operating outside the new borders in the Wilderness.

  “Spauch is a business man. Somehow we must affect a deal. The action we’re discussing is illegal, which is problematic. We’ll be threatening a ship operating across the Border in the Wilderness where we have no jurisdiction or even any right to be. We’ve little intelligence on what exists out beyond, and nothing about the kinds of connections and support Spauch has. We can’t predict the reactions our actions will provoke,” Frank sighed, “and too few of us are left to defend against any response.”

  Leesl spoke. “The arena ship is fortified but won’t expect this kind of action. No records exist of anyone who’s ever challenging Spauch. Who threatens entertainment anyway? Perhaps he’ll choose the least damaging course available if we’re able to convince him we’ll use force unless he turns the creature over. He’s in business; he won’t want to spend to repair his ship, not to mention the concessions he’ll lose while he’s in dock. If we don’t take the construct, or we do, but can’t get what you need, it’s only a matter of time for the human race anyway - a short time, unless Doc’s colleagues are successful. You’re a species without a home planet and your numbers are dwindling. You’re not the formidable force you once were. You can’t presume the allies will defend you. The planets on the Border are already canceling trade agreements and pulling out of the Union of Galaxies as the Space Force loses the ability to protect them. My planet, by the way, pulled out and requested I return.”

  “Humans may survive,” Doc said. “The four self-sufficient planets will endure. The deputies and support personnel on the uninfected Force cruisers, and what’s left of the military, are taking the necessary precautions by avoiding human inhabited zones, and getting parts and provisions from non-human Union members,” Doc stated. “Sabotage is possible, infecting us through supplies.”

  “I thought the pox was introduced by the Nameloids. If this is true and they want to wipe out your species, they’ll try to infect the self-sufficient worlds and the remaining Space Force and military ships. How are the diseases disseminated?” Leesl asked.

  “The Nameloids are technologically advanced race,” Doc answered. “We can be infected and re-infect ourselves by physical contact or pneumonically. They contaminated material we handled. Pox was discovered on Earth almost two years ago and spread quickly through the colonies, the planets they traded with, and their trade partners. The virulence is astonishing. The entirety of the Union of Galaxies is contaminated. Whole crews contracted pox on human inhabited planets and from repair and supply depots in space. We’re lucky we discovered this before we all became infected. We’ve abandoned regular protocols and our non-human allies are supplying us with tested elements for food production and water. Even the mechanical parts our engineers require to keep us in space are sterilized by them.

  “All humans on Earth are deceased, as well as the inhabitants of the worlds we originally traveled to. Non-human traders report the Nameloids have moved onto Earth. The last of the quarantined trade planets will be void of human life in another two months. We don’t know whether the Nams want to wipe us all out or if they only wanted Earth. Even if our target provides what we need, we can’t help the infected. We can save ourselves, what’s left of the Force and the military, and the self-sufficient planets. Once we’ve successfully synthesized enough vaccine to immunize the ships, we’ll supply the rest. I’ll admit, though I won’t say this to anyone outside this room, I’m glad I’m on this ship,” Doc concluded.

  “What’s the ETA of the other cruisers?” Leesl asked the Captain.

  “They’ll be here at 0600 hours tomorrow,” Frank answered.

  “Okay,” Leesl sighed and stood, “I’ll brief my people.”

  Spauch’s medical personnel disabled and cut out the foreign devices they found in the six new slaves. The medicals wondered amongst themselves why the sellers had not removed the subcutaneous communication-location implants, since Spauch’s doctors were reputed to remove them. What a stupid oversight, just giving away good com-locs to Spauch. For what reason had Spauch purchased the human specimens anyway? Humans were soft and so, well, defenseless. They discussed these things in their quiet language while cleaning and packaging the tiny instruments for storage, and handing them over to the courier for delivery to the massive units below. Spauch would sell the instruments when the ship arrived at the markets.

  Chief Deputy John (Jack) Knott, Commander Lenore (Lee) Phong-Nguyen, Captain (Pak) Pakinajasool, Sergeant Sullivan (Sully) McTiernan, Sergeant Kim Jones, and civilian observer Daniel Abbas ibn Spralja, naked and still bleeding from the extractions, were hauled by their captors through hallways l
ined with cages. All of the occupants were alien; none of the aliens were familiar to the negotiating team.

  The devices encircling their wrists and ankles were lighted tubes which wrapped themselves around their body parts like octopus tentacles exploring glass bottles in old nature films. The three ‘arms’ came together behind each captive and joined into single, thicker, solid white tube extending to a control handle managed by an alien. These guards were all of the same species.

  One by one the guards released the new slaves into the small jail cells, consisting of vertical and horizontal bars, a hole in the floor to crap in, and that was all. Their cages were far enough apart, with many in between them, so they wouldn’t be able to communicate with each other.

  Captain Jensen woke up quickly, arose, and sat at his holotable. He fingerprinted the green circle and watched his commanding officer appear, head and shoulders, in front of him.

  “Commander,” Captain Jensen said, instantly alert.

  “Frank, the Rots shafted us. This affects your mission. We had a five member negotiation team and a civilian observer on Rotagon when those bastards suddenly decided not to re-up and arrested the unit for espionage. They’ve been sold to Spauch, and have already been transported to the arena ship.”

  Frank was rendered uncharacteristically speechless.

  “Frank?”

  “George, yes, I heard you, I just don’t believe this.”

  “Neither do we. The Rots arbitrarily redrew their Border. I’m sending you the revisions.”

  A map of the new Border appeared next to the Commander. The co-ordinates blazed neon red.

  “You’re in the Wilderness, Frank, get the hell out of there.”

  The Commander disappeared and Frank forwarded the information to Navigation.

  “Helm.”

  “Yes, Captain,” the navigator replied.

  “Bounce us back behind these co-ordinates, double quick.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Three seconds passed as the talented helmsman programmed the MCEP.

  “We’re now in Union controlled space, Captain. May I inquire as to why the boundary has changed?”

  “A major cluster-fuck, Bill. Make the necessary adjustments.”

  “Of course, Captain. Helm out.”

  Captain Jensen went back to bed, clutched the comforter up to his chin, and immediately fell asleep. His ability to sleep anywhere anytime, and rouse and act speedily and think clearly was legendary and widely envied.

  I walked down the halls, wrapped in the new shackles, toward the outer door. Well, they were several decades old now, but new to me. I loved those yokes. If you had to wear them, they should at least be flexible and comfortable, and these were. On no occasion had they ever closed on my skin, pinched, or worse, bruised my trachea. They weighed practically nothing, and they never failed to release. The failure of the old contraptions to open had caused our minders endless anxiety. When those shackles malfunctioned they had to be manually opened, which often resulted in injury or death, usually to the guard. Most slaves took advantage of any opportunity. All in a day’s fun. Also, the guards couldn’t bang these on the cage bars. I liked the quietness.

  I hadn’t minded captivity once a few decades had passed. Oh sure, I fought the idea at first, until I realized I was never getting out of this place. Twice, depression had set in, and I’d tried to get myself killed in the ring, but this stupid body wouldn’t die. The damn thing wasn’t fragile like the others, and repaired itself. Also, I felt the blows in the abstract; pain didn’t register as distress, which was nice. After a while, the body had overridden my mind, and protected me by killing our opponent, both times. Oh, well. Next I tried to starve to death. Again the flesh took over and I ate. Lesson learned. My soul wouldn’t be slipping into another corpse anytime soon.

  So I enjoyed myself. Every night they gave us a hunk of roast beast of some sort. I occasionally wondered if the meat came from a defeated fighter, but I pushed the nasty thought away and relished the meals. I very much appreciated the vegetables and the starch, two bottles of wine, and all the water I could drink. When I was exceptionally good in the ring I earned dessert, usually some kind of sweet runny mess with chunks in it, which were not unlike cake. Desert was a tasty treat I merited as often as possible.

  I’d never met Spauch, though I’d learned his name. Spauch owned me, the guards and combatants, and the ship. He acted as the house or bookie for the betting done on us. Currently there were five prize fighters, including moi. I’d asked Kek once where the slaves came from and he’d told me Spauch had buyers who went to various planets and bought violent criminals. Routine transports brought the prisoners to this ship.

  When I discovered my home was actually a spaceship, my head spun. For decades I’d thought I lived in a big building, a slave warehouse so to speak. The garden ceiling turned out not to be a projection after all, but a view of actual space.

  Kek was my usual guard, and when he went off duty his brother Nok guarded me. At least three guards with electric prods still always accompanied us. Those weapons hadn’t changed at all.

  Kek’s and Nok’s entire species had been sold to Spauch when a neighboring warlord had decided he’d wanted their planet for himself. Kek’s mate Tan guarded the meal server for this section. They pushed the meals through a small gate, and some had lost their arms to those fighters who preferred to eat the living, and had grabbed a hand. Hence the guards. Double door entry for the food wasn’t installed because there were enough of Kek’s people to guard the servers. Presumably they needed to be kept busy. Tan made sure I always got the best part of whatever beast we were eating every night, or so she told me. She probably said the same thing to all of us primes, which was very politic of her.

  When I’d first arrived in this incarnation I found myself still thinking in terms of hours, days, weeks, months, years, but I soon learned time stretched out here. The cycles lasted longer. The waking and sleeping times, and the whole of a “day” seemed more like thirty-two hours than twenty-four. The difficulty of trying to reckon exactly how long I’d been in this place baffled me, so I let go of time - which didn’t matter anyway. Eat, sleep, wake, pee, crap, fight, bathe, medical, and recovery: this was my life.

  I was only allowed to socialize was in the pit. They always put me in the one on the right - when looking at the arena from the guards’ pen - with other primes. We never fought one another. As time passed I learned something of sixty-eight languages. I became fluent in the original eight primes’ and the guard species’ languages. I mastered the common tongue called Infinite Standard. I spoke many more sufficiently enough to converse in what passed for intelligence in their societies, and comprehended quite a few well enough to say, “Get the fuck away from me now,” quite clearly. Some I understood but couldn’t speak, and many escaped me completely.

  The guards walked behind me through the deactivated door, which reactivated behind us, and into their den. They always allowed only one of us in their area at a time now, just in case.

  Also, if a problem occurred in the arena, say, a fighter wouldn’t calm down, the audience had to wait until they sedated and removed the thing. This happened a lot, especially with new victors, and certain species.

  I waited patiently while Kek was pulled aside for a mini-conference, something about a gate in the other pit sticking. A maintenance worker’s body parts were strewn all over the floor of the left fighter cage. Some of the corpse was being eaten. Oops. Accidents happen.

  Kek returned and looked me in the eyes. He tried not to chuckle. He grabbed the control handle from Tap and nodded at Cam to open the gate to the right fighter pen, and waited for it to close around the shackles. The second one opened and released me.

  The first things I noticed were the six humans sitting on the metal bench closest to me. People!

  Of course I played it cool, but I felt a funny little tickle, you know, down there. Strange how strongly your own kind can affect you in interesting wa
ys when you’ve only been exposed to aliens for decades. I slid my gaze over them quickly and walked over to stand next to Klon, who faced the bars, watching the action in the arena. A frog-like creature jumped back and forth, sticking to the walls.

  When Spauch had first started buying them, he installed a sort of clear mesh net over the pit to keep them from bounding out into the audience. The spindly looking frogs were ravenous. This frog’s Spleetoid opponent was big and tough, but already missing all four of its upper limbs, the defensive ones. It wouldn’t be long now.

  Klon laughed joyously. His silver back hair rippled. He loved the froggies, and was the only fighter who’d managed to kill one. Even though the Spleetoid had been a friend of ours for quite a while, Klon wasn’t able to restrain himself. As far as I knew, Klon didn’t have compassion for others. At least he seemed to be trying to laugh quietly. The Spleetoid turned and glared at Klon. Klon tried harder to control himself but the damn frog unhinged its gigantic beak, dropped off the mesh, and our friend disappeared.

  Klon fell apart. I couldn’t help myself, I laughed too.

  You do what you gotta do. Laughter can keep you alive as effectively as a killer’s sense of timing in the ring. It’s only a matter of when to do what, where.

  I glanced at the humans. They looked a little sick. They stared at me and I realized they chattered in English, which only registered as background noise because I hadn’t heard the language in so long. I reached back and scratched behind my right shoulder.

  “That has to be the construct,” Daniel said. “The thing’s humanoid, tall, lean, vascular, and the gender’s not discernable. I see ink over Its right scapula. Got to be the designation tattoo.”

  “But the ink’s obscured,” Pak said. “That big scar, I can’t tell if that’s the serial number or not.”

  “Seems like the tat was straight before the wound distorted it,” Sully said. “I can’t read it either.”

  “Is that even writing?” Lee asked. “It could be anything.”

  Jack stood up and faced the creature.

  “G-9SRO25T,” he said in his clear command voice.

  Nothing happened. The thing didn’t flinch or move a muscle, but continued talking to the big hairy beast. They were laughing.

  “G-9SRO25T!” Jack said again, louder. This time they both turned to glare at him, but resumed their conversation. He stared at the back of Its head for a moment, but decided to sit down. He was a stranger in a cell full of killers.

  “Sull-i-van Mc-Tier-nan.”

  One of the guards shouted Sully’s name in an odd sounding accent, and pointed with his prod to the opening in the fence.

  “Sull-i-van Mc-Tier-nan,” the guard yelled.

  They wanted Sully to fight.

  Jack looked at Sully. Sully, an impeccable deputy and a fit young man, appeared frightened.

  “Do I have a choice?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so, Sul.”

  The guards were agitated at the delay. They packed up near their entrance, getting ready to surge in when the hairy giant that had been laughing with the construct grabbed Sully by the head and tossed him through the open gate, which promptly clanged shut, trapping him. The second one grated open.

  “Shit,” Sully said, but he walked into the arena.

  “Good luck, Sul.”

  “Kick some alien butt, Sully.”

  “Smear it into the sand, babe.”

  “Don’t play around. Kill it fast.”

  “Fist fuck it to death, bro.”

  They all turned to look at Daniel.

  The humans rushed to the bars. Sully rose to the challenge. He pounded his naked chest. He ran around the ring. The crowd roared. The other entrance gaped, and an indescribable horror squeezed out. For a few seconds the humans turned speechless, but then they screamed all the louder, shouting encouragement to their friend.

  The animal was a see-through orange mass about one human height tall and six wide. Briefly Jack wondered what kind of planet had produced such a hue. Was the color camouflage, or a warning to predators? The creature rumbled when it moved. Grumbling, the thing oozed out into the arena and expanded to double human height, while skinnying up a lot, then stopped and quivered. The beast seemed to be sensing the audience, but no one really understood what it was doing. Sully played smart and froze. Lots of animals can’t see well, or distinguish prey from background, and they cue on movement and sound, which may have been true with the blob, but this didn’t matter. The monster struck out a hundred sharp barbs in all directions except down. Sully literally threw himself backwards and landed in the nasty, smelly sand, which scraped some skin off his back. In a smooth motion he rolled to his feet and ran to the middle of the ring.

  Smart, you always wanted to be in the center. You never wanted to be pushed up against a wall, because then your options were limited. A fighter could use the wall to bounce off into an oncoming opponent, but unless you knew exactly what you were doing, this could hurt, or even kill you.

  Sully pondered how to end the thing as he waited for its next strike. He’d have to study this foe for a while, which was dangerous. Getting too near this opponent was a bad idea. Normally he’d move in close to fight. Sully was now aware that the monster made weapons and extend them at least four feet out from its body. Could it throw something out further? Quicker? Sully had been lucky to be able to get out of the way of the needle-sharp points.

  The blob still quivered and sat, waiting. Sully moved. He began to circle about eight feet away. His opponent didn’t change its behavior. Sully bent down, grabbed a handful of sand, and threw it. The animal’s attention focused fully on Sully for a moment. It made a lashing arm which whipped out. The limb formed a clawed, grasping end that just missed snapping on Sully as he cart-wheeled to the right. As the claw clacked shut and snapped back into the body of the animal, another assembled and jolted out into the space Sully would have been in had he not seen the limb’s action while in handstand. As his left foot came down into the sand, he arrested his momentum and pulled his torso backward, pushing off with the planted foot. He landed on his ass close to where he’d taken off from. The claw snapped closed and retracted into the mass with lightening speed.

  Sully contemplated the reach of the arms as he rolled away from his opponent, stood, and ran to the center of the ring. He’d managed to move the beast closer to the wall. His eyes traveled up the multicolored expanse. Many mouths were opened in the stands but he wasn’t able to hear a sound.

  Sully considered grabbing a limb to turn back against his opponent. He didn’t have any weapons or protection, not even clothing. His groin ached in its unsupported state, a distraction he couldn’t afford, though its nagging was impossible to ignore.

  Sully paced in a half circle, ten feet away from the blob, and ended up back where he’d started. The clawed arms had stretched to eight feet, while the needle points had just reached four. There had been multiple needles, but only one claw at a time. Would the single limbs be massive and longer, the many arms finer and shorter? He palmed some more of the heavy sand. He had a good arm; the grit hit the orange hide. Again the creature fully focused its attention on Sully. This time, the deputy stood perfectly still. The monster didn’t whip out any arms, but rumbled forward, closing the gap between itself and Sully by five feet. Sully stumbled backwards to increase the distance and another a limb flashed out. As Sully fell again on his sand-burned back, the arm came to a needle sharp point and passed above him, then retracted.

  The reach had to have been at least nine feet. His opponent quickly stalked him as Sully crab-walked rearward in a big hurry. The blob gained speed. He had to get up on his feet, which would cost him time. Flattening his body and pulling his arms in, he rolled away, pushed himself up, and ran, circling. The beast had picked up speed and grumbled while moving forward in a straight line. The creature sensed his movement and altered focus, somehow following Sully’s progress around and behind. However, the animal continued to rumble
in the same direction and took several seconds to come to a stop. Then it sat and quivered some more.

  Sully dripped sweat and breathed hard. The abrasive sand covered his skin. His stomach lurched and he bent to vomit, but only liquid came up. They’d not been fed well. The heaves continued and he had trouble getting them under control. Mouth breathing, he pinched his nose shut and watched the orange demon begin to rumble toward him again. Sully began to talk to himself, silently in his mind.

  There’s no way out. I have to kill it. I will kill it. I may get hurt, but I won’t die. I’ll survive. There’s no way out. I have to kill it. I will kill it. I may get hurt, but I won’t die. I’ll survive.

  Sully continued thinking this mantra as he circled the oncoming monster again. The blob quavered and couldn’t seem to make up its mind about what to do. When Sully stopped, twenty feet away, it rumbled toward him. Sully moved to its side and charged in. The beast slowed. A large needle flicked out. Sully dodged, grabbed, and bent the arm backwards at the orange body. It was like bending Jello, but the limb moved and the point cut the hide. A small tidal wave of ooze fell out and plopped in the sand. Almost immediately the wound closed up.

  Sully was ten feet away again. The blob quivered menacingly. The spilled fluid steamed and reeked. The odor engulfed Sully, nauseating him. He retched, but stayed upright.

  After studying his four limbed, vertical opponent for a second, the creature rumbled toward Sully with a speed as yet unseen. The fighter had gauged Sully well. Moving fast, it closed the space between them by half and then lashed out a claw which snapped around Sully’s legs. The crowd took a collective breath. Sully struggled and tore at the gelatin to no avail; the beast flipped Sully onto his side. The claw dragged Sully under and drew him inside the body, suspending him upside down. The creature expanded outward and Sully stretched with it. As he struggled, digestive juices and expansive action simultaneously dissolved and pulled Sully apart, ending his silent scream. The form of the bloated, distended, dissolving human remained visible within the quivering blob as the winner circled the ring in rumbling victory.

  At least we won’t be eating Sully for dinner, I pondered ungraciously.

  The humans looked stunned. Two of them vomited. Three of them turned away and one stared vacantly at the remains of his friend circling the arena inside of the beast.

  How awful for them, I thought, surprising myself with by feeling sympathy for the humans. Empathy wasn’t part of my emotional repertoire anymore, and hadn’t been for a long time, so its reemergence attracted my attention. It’d taken me some time to remember their language, my language, so I’d not followed their conversation well until they’d started shouting encouragement to their friend.

  They were in shock; that was plain. I didn’t appreciate the vomit, which wouldn’t be cleaned up until the fights were over. The odor nauseated me. Nothing had affected me like that in quite a while. My body reacted to them in ways I hadn’t since I’d been, well, human. I didn’t have long to think these thoughts though because Kek was yelling at me.

  “Ghee-nye!”

  As I walked to the open gate, one of the men stared at me. He mouthed my name.

  “Ghee-nye!” Kek yelled again.

  I would be fighting a Saran. In general, they weren’t difficult to kill, and you could play with them for a long time, to the delight of the audience. This I planned to do. I looked forward to dessert. My mouth watered.

  The Saran, similar to a walking stick on Earth, was what these beasties reminded me of. The only obvious difference was the size; they were as long as a flat bed trailer. Also, their bulbous red butts reminded me of those baboons on Earth. Their heads were on stalks and the flexible body could bend around on itself like a dog licking it’s nads.

  The face always disturbed me. Their flat faces were gentle-looking and their eyes soft and brown, similar to said dog’s. They don’t fight well, but climb and kick like horses. They have six legs to kick with and frequently stomped their opponents to death.

  I waited in the little cage. They wouldn’t let me out because the orange blob took its time with its victory laps, probably savoring Sully.

  The crowd ate it up, so to speak. Finally twenty prods ran into the arena from the ingress between the two pens. They hustled the beast to the left cage. A guard activated the small gate and the blob squeezed itself in. Apparently the thing was intelligent; the handlers didn’t have to use the prods and it didn’t attack them or the other slaves. The guards went in behind the creature and cleared a giant area.

  I watched the Saran’s legs carefully moving up and down, trying not to step on anyone while making its way forward. It stepped into the emptied space and lowered itself down enough to clear the ceiling. The guards positioned themselves between the Saran and the other fighters. One palmed a DNA ID sensor and a large gate slid closed behind the Saran, trapping the big insect in and the others out. The guard touched the pad again and the large arena gate began sliding open.

  The small pens faced each other across the hallway and were built within medium-sized gates. I occupied one and the opposite cage had folded flat. When the medium or the large gates were used, the hind gate closed to segregate the selected fighter, and to prevent a mass evacuation of fighters into the pit. The DNA ID sensors accepted commands from Kek’s people, and nothing else.

  The Saran turned its lovely head and stared at me through those sad, puppy dog eyes. This one had been around a while, and only five of its six limbs remained. All that was left of the sixth leg was a long stump. Silently I vowed to break the rest of its legs tonight.

  Its minders released the Saran, which walked gracefully into the arena and scanned the hopped up crowd with its serene visage. The mass of spectators berserked.

  The guards closed the large gate and went through the one at the end of the hall into the safety of their area, then opened the hind gate. The fighters in the left pen surged to the forward barrier and began howling. The gate holding me back opened.

  I dashed into the pit as fast as I dared. I ran around the ring close to the walls while the sweet face watched me, and as I neared the remaining hind leg, I sped flat out toward my opponent, leaped as high as I could, and planted both feet. The limb snapped like a dry branch and clear fluid showered me. My soles bruised but no matter, I stood up and kept running because the Saran was turning. Now the beast had only the front four legs and had to drag the last third of its body. This slowed the creature down and affected its maneuverability. I kept to the rear. I stayed right near that red ass until the damned thing tried to shit on me. I moved damn fast then, maneuvering around so I wouldn’t have to run through its feces.

  The sand wasn’t absorbent. Some kind of drainage must be underneath though, because once in a while someone puts tons of water on as if to clean it. The muck then reeks until it dries, which takes about a month and we still have to fight on it. My feet stink so bad I always have to wash them before I take my bath. Spauch actually provides a disinfectant dispenser in the bathroom. I don’t know what the fighters in the smallest cages do; they don’t even have bathtubs or faucets. A few of them last for several matches. How they sleep and eat with that odor coming off their feet I cannot imagine. Maybe some of them throw their fights to get away from the stench. Of course if they’re good enough they’re moved to a cell that has a bed, faucet, and a drain in the floor. It’s still small, about eight feet square, but at least they can wash the stink off of them.

  I’d been trying to stay behind the Saran, which had adjusted neatly to the loss of its fifth leg, and was getting quicker. Suddenly I found myself flying through the air. I enjoyed getting off my sore feet, but the Saran’s feet have little spikes in them, which pulled a few chunks out of my hide when it kicked me. I smashed into the arena wall and landed on the right side of my face.

  Ow fucking OW! I thought. Fucking nasty sand.

  Some skin scraped off, as usual. Involuntarily I retched. My face would stink until I was taken back to my q
uarters with its lovely bathroom. That made me mad. The anger gave me the hormone boost I needed to avoid the next kick, but just barely. This Saran was fast. One of the hooks caught the meat of my left deltoid and ripped a bit away.

  Adrenaline flooded me. As the flesh tore I reached up with my right arm and grabbed the beast. I clamped my hand down and hung on as the Saran tried to flick me off. I managed to fasten my left one on, too, and I began to climb. The Saran really shook its leg now, but I was determined. I clenched my feet on the hard, bumpy surface and rode the shaking out. I got up to the knee joint. The crowd jumped out of their seats, screaming, spilling drinks and food. I was much closer to them than usual, which was a pleasant change of view from the usual bland and bloodied arena walls.

  The giant bug got mad. They don’t like stuff stuck on their legs. It stopped shaking its leg and put its foot on the ground. The concussion nearly broke my hands free but I stayed on. I climbed on to the limb beam which went straight across to the body. The Saran began to thrash its abdomen and two stumps left and right. I realized they weren’t completely useless after all as one sailed over me and on the way back hit me so hard I ended up hanging underneath. I wrapped my arms and legs around and clung tight, nearly unconscious. The head came toward me and the beast tried to bite me. I scrambled away and ended up on the vertical section again, but couldn’t hold on. I slid; the lumps and bumps on its hide bruised the insides of my upper arms and thighs. The damn thing flicked again and I went sailing up. I hit the net and landed hard on the beast’s back. Winded, I hustled to get a grip on the ridiculous topography.

  The crowd was getting a good show. I would definitely get dessert tonight. In fact I was heading for a double portion.

  I crawled toward the head. The Saran turned and stalked to the nearest wall. I clung tightly as its front legs scrabbled up and its hooked feet grasped the top lip. I hung from its back as its second pair scratched at the vertical enclosure. Its front feet gripped the net. I couldn’t hold on. I tried to climb down toward that red ass as it started to pull itself across the net upside down. The toes of the middle legs clenched the top of the wall. I dangled, swearing. I had to get the hell off, because as I craned my head around, I caught a glimpse of Kek moving toward the pulse control. He stared at me. His hand reached for the pad, so I let go.

  I fell, twisting in the air. I cushioned my brainpan in my forearms and smacked the cement-like sand. I landed on my side, curled up, just as the electric jolt stiffened the Saran for two seconds. It shook off the shock and began to quickly climb down. By then I was ready.

  My opponent tried to stay above me, but couldn’t get a good grip on the vertical wall. As its first leg hit the ground, I took a running flying leap and barreled in, leading with my right shoulder. My whole body smashed through the limb and I collided with the wall, falling into the stinking sand yet again. The fractured ends cut me. The Saran lost its grip and fell in a crashing heap. I leaped up, ran to another leg and jumped, cracking it badly.

  Oh, my aching feet.

  That was three legs for me, plus the already broken one; only two to go. The insectoid alien thrashed its abdomen, snapping at me with its teeth. The creature still looked sad, the face, sweet. I punched out one eye and dodged a snap as it convulsed, screaming. I stayed clear and waited, eyeballing the orgasmic crowd. I would definitely be getting a double portion tonight.

  I ran in and slugged out its other eye, and one of the two remaining legs knocked me down. The injured animal thrashed so badly I crawled away and stayed put. I spit blood and pumped my fists in the air. The crowd was supercharged. Energy surged through me, but I had to take care. I still had to kill the damaged fighter. They wouldn’t let me out of the pit until I’d killed the beast.

  The Saran weakened. I paced the arena, pumping the audience up, watching my opponent. It stopped thrashing and started twitching. I ran in and grabbed the fifth leg below the joint, stood above the bend, and pulled the other section until I could feel the cracking and splintering though my hands. The thing resumed its violent fit so I hustled away. Again I pumped up the crowd. They frenzied. My opponent lay, breathing, but still.

  I walked up to it this time and climbed up on top, standing for the spectators’ viewing pleasure. The giant fighter twitched some more and raised its head to face me with bloodied eye sockets. Meat bulged out. I jumped down and broke the last leg. The crowd noise climaxed and held. I circled to face my opponent.

  The time to put the great beast out of its misery had arrived. We both understood this. It lay still in the stinking sand. I raised my arms and turned my back to the creature. The air vibrated with energy. I spun toward the face and cocked back my arm, punching through the bloody meat into the Saran’s brain. Again and again I slammed my fists and arms in up to my biceps until I wearied and was sure the thing lay dead. Grabbing a handful of grey matter, I pulled them out, lifted my aching, trembling hands high, showing the audience. I plunged my other fist in and yanked out another fistful of brains, raising that mess up for the crowd, too. The blood and gunk dripped into my armpits and down my ribs. I threw the grey goo at the maniacal watchers. The arena shook under the stomping of feet. The sand vibrated and jumped. The net jiggled and bounced.

  The prods came out to herd me. They worried about the vibration. I didn’t care; I took my time, still exciting the spectators. I reached the small gate and turned to them again. Energy buzzed through my body. The handlers closest to me displayed the voltage; the prod ends sparked.

  I stepped inside.

  The small gate clanged shut, trapping me in the little cage. The guard gate opened and the prods exited the hall as the pen released me and I walked into the fighter pit. Klon was laughing again. The humans stared at me.

  The guards had already begun taking fighters to their dinner during my bout, making more room in both pens.

  Kek kicked the enclosure, beckoning me, so I backed toward him. Electric snakes wrapped around my neck and wrists. Kek pulled me backward and waited for the first gate to close before opening the second and pulling me into the guard pen. He turned me to face the exit and after it opened; Kek, three prods, and I went through. When the door shut the noise dimmed.

  “Ghee-nye, you almost wrecked the ship tonight,” Kek teased me in his language.

  “That’s one way to get out of here,” I answered in kind.

  “One way, yes, into the vacuum of space,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t do that to you and your lovely wife.”

  “You, no, the crowd, yes.”

  “Crazy crowd tonight, huh? Real blood thirst.”

  “Blood thirsty, yes. You’re covered in blood.”

  Kek took me to the medicals. They cleaned the fluids and goop off of a patch of my neck and injected the funky juice. When I was loopy, Kek removed the shackles and the guards backed up. The medicals shoved me into the steamer. Some of the most painful antibiotics ever created pressed into my wounds and condensed and washed me clean. The medical personnel made their soft noises as they looked me over. They glued the cuts and tears together and bound them with tape. One put on the glove and held it a centimeter from my face while it sucked the sand out of the scrapes. They sprayed some more of the antibiotic onto the burn. They clucked at Kek and the snakes wrapped my neck and wrists again. Kek maneuvered my now uncoordinated body into the hall. One of the prods gave his weapon to his cousin and helped me stay vertical as I walked to my quarters. They sat me on the little ledge and cleared out.

  Yummy, yummy, yummy. Double dessert.

  The good thing about being wounded is getting time off. Lots of time. Spauch never scheduled us if we had open wounds or broken things, which would be considered unsporting.

  I spent several cycles lying in bed, leaving it only to eat and use my self-cleaning hole in the floor. Three days after the fight, Kek showed up at the barred window. He stood in the darkened hall.

  “Ghee!” He whispered loudly.

  “Go away, Kek.”

 
“Ghee!”

  “Piss off!”

  “GHEE!”

  “WHAT!”

  I sat straight up. Big mistake. Everything screamed at me and the room swirled around. For a minute I couldn’t breathe. I forced air into my lungs.

  The bruises had turned brown and yellow. They covered approximately half my body, which healed fast, but the damage was bone deep.

  “Kek, you asshole!” I hissed at him in his language.

  “Yes, you always say that,” he sighed.

  I managed to stand up and make my way to the ledge, and sat down near where his eyes peered through the bars.

  “This better be important. I was sleeping.” I cleaned my eyes with my fingers.

  Kek was short enough to look directly into my face if I sat down. His people were squat and wide, and as strong as young green trees with deep roots. I couldn’t break them or topple them over. As long as I remembered, no one ever had. Not even Klon.

  “A human wants to talk to you,” Kek said.

  “So?” How interesting, I thought, though I didn’t show my interest.

  “His name’s Jon Jak Not.”

  “No wonder you like him.” Kek’s people weren’t superstitious but they had a thing about names.

  “He wants to talk to you. I’ll bring him.” Kek rushed off.

  “Stop! Kek! You’ll get in trouble.”

  Kek didn’t wait. He wasn’t taking much of a chance though. Most everyone was asleep. The ship closed down several hours every ‘day’ for maintenance and repairs. The betters and gawkers went to their ships and shuttles; the hangers emptied and shut up tight. Anyone who wasn’t caring for the ship’s systems slept.

  Soon enough Kek returned with the naked human wrapped in the electric shackles. Kek released the outer gate and shoved him in, closed the exit, retracted the snakes, and opened the inner one. The human’s eyes had darted around seeking me in the room during the whole process. I was out in my garden, behind the now smoke colored wall. Kek commanded the lights in the quarters to dim darker than those in the hall, in case anyone walked by.

  I limped into the opening between the bedroom slash dining room and the garden, and waited for the human to notice.

  The construct moved into the doorway from a dark area beyond. The heat of fear rose into Jack’s gut. The thing didn’t move, charge, or even snarl. It just waited.

  Jack stepped forward slowly, utterly naked and defenseless. He’d seen It fight. He knew he was dead if It chose to kill him.

  He would try to negotiate.

  “I am Chief Deputy John Knott. My friends call me Jack.” After a brief hesitation he said, “Please, call me Jack.”

  The being remained motionless, standing and staring.

  It looked like a shadow blending into the background. Its eyes glinted. It was as tall as Jack, six foot, very lean, and vascular. The joints, hands and feet were large, but the head was small, shaved, and the face ruined. The eyes flashed with uncanny intelligence, doubtless borne of Its long years. It retreated behind the smoked screen.

  Oh, great, thought Jack. You have to go through the doorway. No, it’s okay. He walked forward slowly. You’ve been through tons of doorways and you haven’t died yet. You won’t die today.

  He stepped past the framing. The construct kneeled in some kind of carpet facing of all things, a large bonsai. The tree, old, gnarled, and short, had a few leaves. The rug smelled moist and…something. Jack hadn’t breathed organic since his early childhood. He’d been a spacer most of his life.

  Carefully he knelt at right angles to It, about three feet away, facing It. Great, I’m on my knees. I’m dead any second now.

  It said something alien and the lights came up somewhat. The smoked wall hid them from view of the hallway.

  The creature was covered in bruises and scars.

  “Speak,” It commanded.

  Jack opened his mouth, then stopped and thought. What the hell should he say in the few moments they might be together? He glanced in the direction of the gates. He would have to be fast and succinct.

  “I‘m a human from Earth, but I live in space,” he began. “I work as a negotiator for the Sheriff’s Department Space Force. My team and I were renegotiating the Rotagonian protection contract when they suddenly opted out, arrested us, and sold us to Spauch.”

  “Not slave?” the construct asked, speaking English badly, as if trying to speak a new language.

  “No. We’re not slaves. Now two of us are dead.”

  “Not slave.”

  “No.”

  “We all slaves,” It said slowly. “Guards too.”

  “No. I am free, and so are my companions. The Rotagonians broke with the Union while we were renegotiating the contract…”

  “Some negotiating.”

  Jack saw It grin. The monster had made a joke!

  He laughed, quietly. He didn’t want to startle It into any kind of action. Its appearance went neutral again. He matched the expression.

  “Speak more,” It said, “I forget human speak.”

  “How do you know English”?” Jack already had the answer because he’d read the Attempt to Locate and the describers, but wanted to confirm that this was indeed the construct.

  “I knew.”

  “Were you on Earth once?”

  It hesitated. “Yes.”

  “You were born on Earth?”

  Again It paused. “Yes?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “No.”

  “What’s your first memory?”

  The construct paused for a while, and spent a little longer staring at the deformed tree. Its eyes followed the gnarled curving branches. It sighed and said, “Face in sand.”

  “In the arena?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about before?”

  “No before.”

  Jack studied the profile, the shaved head, the scars and bruising. Could there be brain damage? Did It truly not remember? Or was some kind of game being played?

  “What is your name?” Jack asked.

  “Ghee-nye,” It said, pronouncing the words with a hard G, and hard vowels; Ge-Ni.

  “Ghee-nye, your designation is G-9SRO25T. Ghee-nye, G-9. You have a tattoo on your right scap, your serial number. Your construction began in 2049. Your skeleton is a carbon fiber composition; organs and flesh were grown around this. You were finished in 2050. You trained for four years on Earth, then for six you were used as a soldier in space. You protected Earth and its original outposts with others like yourself, and the human armed forces. Two hundred constructs were created. As the first colonies succeeded and thrived, the people of Earth began to feel your construction and use was immoral. In 2060, the military announced you’d all been killed in battle. You were ten years old. Secretly the government sold the last twelve to other species as laborers and personal servants with the understanding that none of you would ever again enter Terran Galactic Space. Spauch purchased you. Eventually, Terran Galactic Space became the Union of Galaxies when we expanded to sixteen galaxies. The Sheriff’s Department contracted with other planets to provide protection in their outer spaces in return for trade agreements. They pay Union dues and they send recruits to our academies. Human militaries protect the Border between Union space and what we call the Wilderness, where we are now. Each trade planet has its own protective military, but their outer space is the responsibility of the Sheriff’s Department Space Force, and Union space is patrolled by the human military, because we have superior vessels.

  “Rotagon lies within this Border, close to the edge of the Wilderness. Spauch’s ship always operates beyond the Border, near the planets inside. Ships and shuttles bring people here to bet and watch the fights. Arena businesses like this one are illegal in our space, but Spauch hovers just outside, siphoning monies and goods out of our Union.

  “What year is this?” Ghee-nye interrupted. She was remembering the language.

  “By the Christian calendar, 2223 A.D..
You’re one hundred and seventy-three years old, or one hundred and seventy-four if you count from the time your construction began. You’ve been on this ship for one hundred and sixty-three years.”

  “I’m not human.”

  “You’re a construct, created by humans. They altered the original human genome to increase your speed, stamina, longevity, healing, immunity, and pain suppression.”

  “Ah!” Ghee-nye nodded her understanding.

  Kek kicked the bars, startling them both.

  “I need to tell you more,” Jack whispered earnestly, “It’s important.”

  Kek kicked again, looked up and down the hall. He barked.

  “Kek says you must go now. No worries,” Ghee-nye said. “He likes your name. His people call themselves with two hard sounds around a soft sound. Your names are all like that, John Jack Knott. This means something to him. He’ll bring you back.”

  Ghee-nye watched him walk to the gate. A long time had passed since she had seen a man’s backside. Carol began to remember everything she had suppressed for many decades.

  Kek worked the gates and the electric snakes and the human backed out.

  Jack was anxious. For all he knew he would be dead before he could talk to her again.

  He didn’t realize he’d stopped thinking of her as “It”.

  Well, hell. Now I wouldn’t be able to sleep. One hundred and seventy-three years old. Or seventy-four. I had to look like crap.

  I don’t believe I’ve ever had a weirder conversation. Commander John Jack Knott thought he was talking to a Terminator, or more like a Fifth Element, though created by humans for humans. I’d loved all those movies, and the TV shows, too. Fascinating how fast the memories came back. But the original consciousness, or soul (hmm, did constructs have souls?) had fled, and here was I, silly little Carol from Earth, born in 1965, dead in 2008. This meant my personality was, let’s see, two hundred and fifty-eight years old in a one hundred and seventy-three (or four) year old body constructed by humans forty-one years after I’d died.

  Alrighty, then. Ah, Ace Ventura. You just cannot beat the rhino scene in When Nature Calls for pure comedic balls.

  Boy, was my memory firing on all cylinders or what? Speaking English and talking of Earth with Jack had been fascinating. Learning about history I’d never lived through, studied, or imagined was a rush!

  But wait! How did the human race advanced to sixteen galaxies in less than two hundred years? This didn’t seem plausible. Was this nonsense? Was I being played?

  Damnit!

  Once again, Kek brought Jack to me. Kek hadn’t asked. He decided that we’d speak together. Kek questioned me thoroughly last night after he deposited Jack in his little cell. I told Kek what Jack said about not being a slave. Kek and I discussed the Union of Galaxies and the Sheriff’s Department, the Rotagons, and their deception. Kek was as disturbed as I’d been to learn Jack and his team were free people, enslaved by trickery and not by established law. I wouldn’t tell Kek this body was a human creation. I couldn’t understand what relevance my humanity had for me yet, and I didn’t want Kek to know, because my humanness would lower me in Kek’s opinion. Humans are considered the weakest species of our relative mass in the Infinite.

  The poor, naked human joined me in my garden again. I’d brought in some of the roast beast, half the veggies and starch, a bottle of wine, and water in my mug for him. He was starving and ate like a barbarian.

  Jack fed himself, gulped water, and struggled to keep it all down and put more in. He finished the starch and veg and some of the meat, poured himself more wine, settled down, and looked at me.

  “I’ve listened to your story,” I said, “and I don’t believe you.”

  Jack choked on his wine.

  “How did humans advance so quickly? Space colonization to sixteen galaxies in less than two hundred years over vast distances? Bullshit.”

  Jack recovered and cleared his throat.

  “We had help, an alien species. They found us exploring our galaxy and gave us their propulsion system.”

  “Just like that.”

  “No, not just like that. They had a need and we filled it, common fungi necessary for their digestion. The Odoks had been traveling for so long they’d forgotten where their planet of origin was. They’d actually evolved, adapting to life in space faring ships. But they needed to culture fungi to keep up their health, and their strains were old and failing. We let them harvest the materials that satisfied their needs from Earth to invigorate their stocks. In return they paid us with the MC and the EP, the Mass Converter and Energy Propeller. They even provided us with maps and coordinates of local established interstellar shipping zones, which is how we expanded to the sixteen galaxies so fast. We haven’t seen them since.”

  “Converter and Propeller?” I asked.

  “The Mass Converter and Energy Propeller is a drive system. All our ships have them, as well as subluminal engines. When you were educated we understood these concepts, so I’m just going to plow ahead. See, for the longest time scientists thought to travel vast distances in space you needed warp speed, hyperdrive, a way to fold space, wormholes, or bridges between universes. The sciences concentrated on how to get mass through distance in vacuum. Look, light speed is six trillion miles per year which is one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles per second. We couldn’t travel anywhere near that fast. Our technology fell short. Theoretically, light speed can’t be reached by matter, anyway, because of entropy. Six trillion miles a year seems like a lot, but in space this doesn’t actually get you very far very fast. We were like ants trying to walk from California to New York. Plus, the farther out you go, the faster time goes on Earth, and the slower time goes for you. Time dilation means people return to Earth after a few years in space to an Earth hundreds of years older. The Odoks helped us build thousands of ships and fit them with their drives. They quoted the equation E equals MC squared, you know, one of Einstein’s big concepts; energy equals mass times light speed times light speed. Light speed times light speed is represented as C squared; C means light speed, the constant that we couldn’t surpass. Light speed is called a constant because it never changes; it’s always one hundred and eighty miles per second. The Odoks made C-squared travel possible and instantaneous for us using their engines in the ships we built with their designs and materials. Really advanced stuff.

  “Speaking of time, we still use seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, and millennia, based on the Christian calendar for continuity, and the After Odok - AO - calendar for official Union business. Ship time is still on the military clock.

  “Anyway, the reason we still use the original Earth solar system-based time calculations is because now we can move through any distance in space instantaneously. If it’s 1700 on Sunday, January 12th, 2223 on Earth, it’s 1700 on Sunday, January 12th, 2223 on our ships, wherever they are. We also send data, visual and audio communication instantly, in real time, because of the EA. No matter how far we travel, our time remains synchronized. We don’t stay young in space while our children age and die.

  “Earth cycles are important to us because other societies which are advanced enough to propose their own measurements use different relationships, their planetary systems can differ greatly from our solar system. They may have two suns and four moons and a seven hundred day year, or get their light reflected off a dense concentration of dust from a nearby nova. Every galaxy, system, and planet is a different size and experiences its own unique rotation. All the cycles of time-telling species differ.

  “Anyway, turns out we don’t need to move mass through space. That’s ridiculous. The MCEP converts the mass of the vessel and crew into energy, propels this energy between two coordinates, and reconverts the energy back into mass.”

  ”Why don’t your vessels crash into a sun or planet, or get chopped into bits by dust and space grit?” I interrupted.

  “The Odoks told us that the friction from movement creates heat and l
ight energy which is funneled up to the front of the ship, like a nose cone. This diverts matter around the ship, and is converted into fuel for the MCEP and subluminal engines. When we fly toward something so massive it won’t be pushed aside, the energy cone pushes the ship around the obstacle. The ship, in energy form, moves around the mass or say, a dangerous dust cloud, and then the system compensates and puts the ship back on course. Remember we’re traveling at light speed squared while all these calculations and adjustments are being done by the MCEP. The energy cone detects and tells the MCEP everything it needs to know while protecting us from collision.

  “Most of the lanes we use are clear because they’re traveled frequently, but since the Universe is expanding, sometimes bits and pieces migrate into them. This ‘nose’ pushes them aside. The Odoks gave us the alpha and omega coordinates of lanes in the region that became Union space. If we need to refuel the subluminal engines or take a route that isn’t mapped, we can tell the MCEP where we want to go, and the destination will be calculated. All we do is touch a point on a holo map, and the MCEP displays the coordinate. Then we touch the coordinate, and we’re there. Our vessels collect fuel from the friction. The EP does something similar for data and communication. Everything takes place in real time with no delays.

  “I’m not a scientist, but I’ve spent a lifetime traveling in their ships and using their maps. One quit working early on, after they left us. Some of our physicists opened the sealed cylinder the Odoks told us was the main reactor, under controlled conditions of course, and guess what was in there?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “They lied to you?”

  Jack shrugged. “All I know is, the ships we built and the drives they installed, except the failed one, are still operating and have allowed us to expand into space and meet new species, but we can’t reproduce the technology.”

  The Odoks sounded like bullshitters to me, but I didn’t say so. Anyway, what did I know? I could see why an advanced race would offer superior technology in trade for something they desperately needed, in appreciation for those who helped them. They might not want to or be able to explain the science to people who hadn’t gotten far enough in their comprehension to understand yet. This was the least they could do for the life saving fungi. Also, on Earth I used a computer, even though I couldn’t build one or repair one. This sounded similar to me.

  “Aren’t you worried the engines might get old and shut down and leave people stranded?”

  “The concern’s been discussed, but scientists say the drives won’t all quit at the same time. That’s not logical, so we could bounce out in another ship and rescue the crew. We’d have to abandon the broken one, though.”

  “That’s fascinating,” I said. “That really is amazing. I’d like to experience that kind of travel.”

  Jack leaned toward me. He stared intensely into my eyes. “You can, if you help us get out of this hell before we’re all killed,” Jack said. “We’ll take you with us.”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. There’s no way out of here,” I complained. Was this true?

  “There is.” He pointed to a wound below his left ear. “They took our talkies. Can you get them back?”

  “I can’t,” I said, deflating. Despite my denial, he’d had me going.

  “Look, you’ve got friends here and you’re respected. You’re influential. Will you talk to that guard?”

  “I’ll speak to Kek, but I doubt he’ll be able to help. I don’t think he knows where they are.”

  “Ask. Please. Can you just ask? Two of my team are dead. Only four of us are left.”

  Kek would pump me for information anyway. I’d begun to think Kek was adopting the humans as pets.

  “I’ll ask,” and I thought, Why not?

  Kek came back after he’d dropped Jack off at his cell.

  “What did he say?” Kek demanded.

  “He says he can get out of here.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” I pointed to the spot below my left ear. “Communicators.”

  Kek frowned. “They’re gone. Medicals took them out.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Storage.”

  “Where is storage?”

  Kek looked down. “Below.”

  Kek sat on the ledge eating the bones from my meal. I was sitting on my bed. He’d long ago learned I wouldn’t attack him, and I enjoyed his company. Disappointedly, he said, “You fed him the beast.”

  “You know they don’t get much.”

  “He gave meat to his friends on the way back. He’s no slave.”

  No. Slaves don’t share food, we kill each other over it. I felt strangely warmed by the thought of Jack taking handfuls of roast to his coworkers when he himself was clearly starving. I knew then that Jack was a good, caring man.

  “Find the devices, Kek. Let’s get them out of here.”

  “No, can’t be done.”

  “Don’t your kin work down in storage?” All of Kek’s people are his kin.

  “Of course. Guards. But not storers. Other species work stores. We don’t understand their language and they make writing.”

  Kek’s people didn’t write, which generally meant those who wrote considered themselves superior and wouldn’t socialize with the kin.

  “The stored stuff had writing on it?”

  “Yes, on containers. Probably what’s inside. I don’t know.”

  “Have I met the storers? Do they fight? Do I speak their language?”

  “No. Different race, like us, all one thing. All storers.”

  Damn.

  “Can you ask your kin what they know about the devices?”

  Kek glared at me. I stared at the bone he cracked with his teeth and ground into moist paste.

  “Enjoying my supper?”

  Kek sighed deeply. “I’ll ask. Tell you what I find out.”

  He finished the bones as I covered myself with my ratty old comforter and commanded the lighting to dim. When he left, the soft pulsing of the ship lulled me to sleep.

  Kek came back after the next lights down, after the fights.

  “One more human died,” he said. He seemed upset.

  Oh no.

  “Jack?” I asked. He shook his head.

  “Female. Only three left now. Jon Jak Not fought well tonight. He’s good. Smart. He uses his opponent’s weaknesses against him. Thoughtful. Deliberate. He fights like you, Ghee.”

  The high praise for Jack coming from the jaded Kek surprised me, and I told him this. He nodded and grabbed the roast beast and bit. Bones crunched.

  I’d saved my meal so we could eat together. It wasn’t hard. After the server and Kek’s wife had left, I went back to sleep. I wasn’t fighting and didn’t need as many calories.

  We ate and drank the wine. Kek was a good dinner companion if you didn’t mind the mouth noises he made. I’d gotten used to them. I’d been listening to them almost since the beginning.

  Kek and his brother Nok had become my guards when they were very young, after their father had been killed and partially devoured. Nok took his father’s death in stride, but Kek had been frightened. I took pity on him and misbehaved with every other guard except Nok and Kek until Kek became my primary minder, with Nok relieving him. I’d never learned whether Spauch heard of my misbehavior and decided to give me Kek, or whether the kin made the decision themselves, but whoever had made the decision was nothing if not expedient. The situation worked well for both of us. Spauch had a talent for pitting slaves, who repeatedly misbehaved for no apparent reason, against their superiors in the ring. The kin had a talent for protecting fighters without appearing to, if they liked us. At the time I was going through those depressive episodes, and had been trying to commit suicide. I fought with a weird camel looking thing that almost killed me. Actually, I think the thing did kill me, and I’d let it. But this stupid body repaired itself on the fly an
d murdered the beast when it bent to hoist my carcass above its head to show the crowd its trophy. My recovery had taken months. I’d been severely depressed back then, but not anymore.

  Depression was a waste of energy, a hard draw on reserves, making fights and recoveries more difficult. Once I’d discovered I couldn’t get out of the matches, not even through death, I tried to mitigate the damage I suffered. Depression wasn’t worth the energy it took, because it gave nothing back, like a parasite. It was easy to become infested with this particular parasite, and feeling sorry for myself was so satisfying. This relieved me of guilt and responsibility.

  Self-pity is potent. Still, this wasn’t enough. That had been my last bout with depression. I’ve become a much more dynamic fighter since, a show woman worthy of double portions of dessert. The kin became my close friends, especially Kek. This was also when I started to learn the languages in earnest.

  Kek interrupted my musings.

  “Nat told me their ship is here.”

  “Whose ship?”

  “”Human ship flown over by Rotagon soldiers; Jack and his friends prisoners inside. Nat says Dag shuttled the Rots back to their planet. Spauch bought the ship.”

  “Spauch bought the ship? For scrap?”

  “No, it is altogether. Good vessel. Not been scrapped.” Kek stared at me , not crunching bones.

  I focused hard on this unexpected information.

  “Nat and Dag are kin?”

  “Yes. Nat is hangar guard, Dag a pilot. Dag guards this ship with the fighter planes.” Now Kek was staring and crunching hard.

  Holy crap! I got it.

  “Kek, your kin guard the hanger and they’re fighter pilots?”

  Kek smiled.

  “And they’re also guarding the human ship?”

  Kek then did a thing I’d discovered was the kin equivalent of laughing. Bone chips sprayed everywhere.

  So, I thought, Spauch has a weakness. Complacency.

  After all, this ship hadn’t changed much since I’d gotten here, except tech upgrades like the new shackles. He’d been well established then. He’d purchased and integrated Kek’s people as guards in Kek’s father’s father’s time. Apparently, through the generations, they’d come to constitute all the guards. Had Spauch not realized that someday they might decide to vacate the ship? Who would stop them once they figured out where to go? Was Spauch counting on their never finding a place to run away to, or had he never conceived of the possibility at all?

  “Kek, how many fighter planes are there?”

  He smiled. Meat and bone chips stuck between his teeth. “Enough. Can squeeze the pilot and one kin in each, maybe two small kin with the pilot. Plus the human craft is larger and comfy. Ten, maybe twelve kin packed in, room for the pilots to fly. Also, four large supply ships are being unloaded right now: food, water, and alcohol. All together enough to evacuate every Mek, you, Jack, and his people.”

  “How long will the supply ships be docked?”

  “Four days.”

  Four days. We could be leaving this shithole within four days.

  “We‘ll work out a plan and I’ll let you know,” Kek said. “One thing, Jon Jak Not must promise to give kin sanctuary in exchange for his life. Ghee-nye, do you think humans will give kin sanctuary?”

  He looked a little anxious, maybe skeptical. I couldn’t speak for the humans. I didn’t know them, and I told Kek this.

  The kin regard promises as blood oaths and welshing on a promise results in killings.

  “Bring him again, Kek, I’ll ask.”

  “He fed his kin, Ghee,” Kek said quietly.

  “Yes, he did,” I murmured in reply. The caring and kindness and selflessness Jack had displayed were flimsy hooks to hang our hopes of freedom on.

  He sat at the little table and ate the remainder of the beast, veggies, and starch, and drank as much water as he could while I explained the escape plan to him from the edge of my bed. He was thrilled, and so excited, he shook. His face was highly mobile and animated. I watched his human expressions for any sign of falseness or malice. Human faces are some of the most expressive in the Infinite; which is another reason why humans are considered weak. They have trouble hiding their true emotions to a shrewd observer, and many of the inhabitants of the Infinite that I’ve met are wily indeed.

  I interpreted the demands Kek made from the hallway through the bars.

  “Absolutely. We’ll give you sanctuary. I’m a highly ranked negotiator, well respected. I’ll get you a planet of your own, Kek. That’s no problem, really. I can think of four habitable planets right now in protected space without any sentient species claiming them.”

  Kek, outside in the hall, watched Jack as closely as I while he spoke and I translated. Kek was thinking of the three names. Three names, like kin names. though Kin had only one name. This had to be a sign of progress and hope.

  “Next lights down,” Kek said, and he left.

  “Tomorrow night. Tomorrow night!” Jack was all twitches and ticks. “I can’t believe this. Thank you, Ghee-nye. Thank you so much.”

  He grabbed my hand and squeezed.

  “Not me,” I said, “Your gratitude should go to Kek and his people. I’m just the interpreter. You need to know that if you go back on your word to them about finding them a planet, that they’ll find a way to wage war on all humans.”

  “I understand. You interpreted the hell out of this. I’m impressed.” He still kneaded my hands, and his were warm. It felt so good to be touched like that I almost couldn’t listen, until he said this, “We need you Ghee. When they constructed you, they grew immunity to all the known human diseases into you. Some of those have come back. They’re decimating humanity. Earth is dead as well as the colonies. So much has been lost, we can’t fight hard enough. The disease is spreading too quickly.”

  “You need me to provide immunity?”

  “Yes. I had no idea when I was on Rot that I’d be here, and I’d meet you. This is the opportunity…” a reflective mood had descended on Jack, “…to save the human race. How strange that such a tragic thing could result in something so hopeful. We were enslaved only to find you. You were sold into slavery by us, not me, I wasn’t alive then, by humans, I mean, and we need you back now. So you see how we would never welsh on the kin. Our debt to them for helping us get you out of here will be great.”

  “Kek’s entire people were also sold to Spauch,” I said. “Their population’s been controlled for generations, and they want a world of their own badly. Just to be absolutely certain, you can get them a planet, right? Because I don’t think what’s left of the human race will survive their disappointment if you don’t. They will hunt you to extinction; yours, or theirs.”

  “I know I can, Ghee. I’m good at my job. I feel now that I was called, so I could be here at this moment in time.”

  “Don’t get all spiritual on me. We may not pull this off.” And if you’re lying to save your own skin and you don’t keep your promise, there won’t be any humans left, and I’ll still be free.

  “It’ll work. But Ghee, as a construct, you aren’t legally a person. When we get back to Union space, I’ll make getting you legal personhood a priority. Eventually, you’ll become equivalent to a human, with all the rights humans enjoy. This is the least we can do for you, for saving us, but at first you won’t have any rights. They’ll take what they need from you and you’ll have no legal recourse. You understand?”

  “What are they going to do, put me in a blender?”

  “No, no! Of course not. It’ll be a while before they get your genome all mapped and figure out what they can do. They can’t kill you. They might have to keep taking samples; blood, whatever, I’m not a doctor. I just want you to know you can’t refuse. I’m worried they may cloister you; I might lose access to you. A lot is at stake.”

  “I won’t refuse, why would I?”

  “We sold you into slavery! All this,” he waved his hand at her scarred body.

  “
You didn’t. The people who did died long ago.”

  “Humans did. The military and the government did, and the authorities may think you won’t want to cooperate. If something goes sideways, it won’t but if it does, I’ll petition to marry you to protect you. Humans can marry anyone, anything, as long as it’s able to give recognizable consent, and then it gets instant status, humanity, if you will. Legal rights. I’ll petition for marriage permission first thing, just in case. They won’t let us marry right away, but this is a prudent legal move. I can go public should anything happen to you.”

  “I’m not interested in refusing. I want to save humanity if I can. Humans are my creators.”

  This was true anyway you looked at the situation. I, Carol, was the product of human reproduction, and G-9SRO25T a human construction. However, human beings hadn’t moved my soul into this body, had they?

  Jack’s wonder had affected me.

  Perhaps the people of the future were manipulating the past to save more of themselves. Had they become as God to the humans of today? Wasn’t God simply a higher intelligence? Way, way higher?

  Was this all a coincidence, or a species-preserving manipulation?

  The crews of the Mark Burgess, the Toi G. Aguirre, the Tomas Elias Mennem, and the Dusundu Deshembe stared at the incredible sight. For centuries their descriptions would be retold.

  Hundreds of Spauch’s fighter planes, a Force light transport, and four Wilderness supply freighters sped toward them through open space. Chief Deputy Knott identified himself and communicated the situation and the department cruisers located, targeted, and destroyed the big guns on the arena ship’s outer hull.

  Sergeant Kim Jones and civilian observer Daniel Abbas ibn Spralja had also survived their captivity, probably because they hadn’t been fought by the time of the escape.

  The fighters quartered their numbers and entered the four cruisers’ hanger bays. They completely filled them. The freighters, the Force transporter, and seventeen of the fight planes had to offload their passengers via connectors and were ditched. The last of the refugees were secured and the Force cruisers bolted to a safe location deep within Union space.

  Spauch was abandoned with no guards, in a ship full of deadly slaves who had been set free by Kek’s kin when they’d disabled the arena ship’s interior electronics to aid in their escape.

  Ghee-nye was taken to the Mark Burgess’ hospital and placed in the doctor’s care, under guard, as soon as Jack got the words out. Since she’d recovered her English, and Jack was required to explain what he knew of Kek’s people, so he wasn’t allowed to accompany Ghee to the hospital.

  After hearing the story, both the Civilian Board and the Sheriff readily agreed Kek and his kin would have their own Force protected planet.

  Unfortunately, because of the loss of so many humans to disease, the Union of Galaxies had to be broken up. The four hundred and seventy-eight ship strong Sheriff’s Department Space Force and the remainder of the military fleets, retreated to the three galaxies which held the self-sufficient worlds. The new, smaller Galaxy Union would be patrolled and protected by the Force and the military. Those Space Force and military members whose planets would no longer belong to the Union were put off the vessels outside of the revised Border for security reasons as the ships made their way to the new Union Protected Space.

  The thirteen galaxies which were withdrawn from began to protect themselves. New allegiances, trading treaties, and policing entities were created among these abandoned regions. Their existing forces would have to be strengthened without human inclusion.

  They understood. The human race had been decimated.

  Delgado Whitaker, M.D. visually appraised me when the deputies brought me into the hospital. Doc didn’t appraise a human being, he regarded a thing. The Diagnose was ready.

  “Put it up here,” Doc said.

  I walked to the invisible field and lay flat, belly up. Doc played with a few controls and the Diagnose came down from above and hovered over me, its holos displayed at the level of Doc’s face. He moved the displays where he wanted them. He studied the projections.

  This went on for about an hour, with Doc thoroughly engrossed with what he was seeing. He muttered things like, “walking scar tissue”, “point five percent bend in the humerus”, and “Ah. A graft. Right there”. Presumably the last was a reference to the composition of my genome.

  I had infinite patience, being as old as I was, but I did tend to get cranky. He hadn’t talked to me. He didn’t regard me worthy of engagement. I would change his perspective. When the pendant fell out of his scrubs, I recognized the gleaming gold fish symbol and seized my opportunity.

  “Are you Christian, Doc?” I asked.

  Startled, he grabbed the charm hastily, stuffing it under the undershirt he wore under his traditional looking scrubs. He resumed his observation of the data. Somewhat surreptitiously, he glanced back at the deputies, who had removed themselves to the outer room were pretending not to be paying attention. They would only react if something went awry.

  “I see by your reaction that being Christian may not be a normal thing in this time and place. Don’t worry, Doctor, I’m from another era altogether.”

  I would have to be careful here, for although G-9SRO25T had lived on Earth from 2049 to 2060, I’d died in 2008. I had no idea what religion was like in the 2050’s, or now in 2223. “I’m agnostic, myself.”

  For the first time the doctor stared right into my eyes.

  “Not atheist?” he asked quietly, his attention returned to the readouts.

  “No, I only deny the official interpretations. I don’t quarrel with the Truth.”

  Ten minutes passed. I imagined he struggled with his prejudice against talking to me as if I were deserving of interaction. He’d been ignoring me as a thing not worthy of acknowledgement.

  “I can see how you would come to doubt, in your situation,” he said finally. He spoke in a quiet tone, his lips tight together, as if he didn’t want to be overheard. “I’m surprised you’ve explored religion at all.”

  Poor human, I thought, still so confused and unsure. The doctor had a lack of confidence in his own beliefs. I realized that in this day and age being Christian might be a capital crime; at best, scoffed at.

  “Is Christianity illegal now, or disrespected?” I asked as quietly. We spoke as if we were in church.

  Again the long wait. The observation. The manipulation of holos. The handwritten notations. He handwrote his notes and manually directed the machine, instead of verbally dictating and instructing. Surely this was old school.

  “Not illegal. Not anything, really, Christianity’s just not practiced openly.”

  “So you do so in private?”

  “Yes.”

  I said, “The Book of Matthew says in Chapter six, verse five, ‘… thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are… for they love to pray… that they may be seen of men.’ Verse six says, ‘enter thy closet, and… pray to thy Father in secret…’.”[i]

  Again, he caught my eye and stared. For the first time, he ignored the Diagnose.

  “You’ve read the Bible?” He asked.

  “Of course. Well, some parts. That quote is one of my favorites.”

  He still hadn’t looked away. I knew I had impressed him and he would no longer think of me as a thing. There wasn’t any going back for him. He was hooked.

  “Not many people have,” he commented quietly, and returned to his work exploring my genome.

  I didn’t correct him by saying, “ah, but I am not a person,” because I wanted him to think of me as such, and he was beginning to. Mission accomplished. Now to cement my personhood in his mind; after all, I was a person, even though G-9SRO25T apparently wasn’t.

  I said, “I got hung up where they say, ‘Honor thy mother and thy father.’ What if your mother or father is a criminal or an abuser? I wouldn’t be able to honor them. No one should honor abusive, criminal parents. Honor is earned, not given. It’s not an e
ntitlement.”

  “You make good points.” Doc physically took blood samples.

  “You don’t trust the machine to analyze my blood?” I asked.

  “I like to keep my skills sharp. Especially these days, just in case,” he admitted to me. There had been no hesitation before his response this time. He’d stopped debating the wisdom of having a conversation with a construct.

  The Diagnose began to evaluate the constituents of my skeletal structure and stimulated my nerves uncomfortably. He seemed impressed at the readings on the Diagnose which showed my brain shutting itself off from the pain.

  “Interesting.”

  I waited patiently.

  “The manner of your construction is fascinating. I can’t believe they created you so long ago. I’m certain they didn’t quite understand what they were doing, but you know humans. Shoot first and ask questions later. Luckily they came up with something better than they’d anticipated.”

  “Thank you,” I replied. I’d accomplished my mission. He was conversing normally with me.

  I closed my eyes and began to doze. Doc watched the displays. The scientist in him was fascinated and the man had started to wonder about me. I sensed the shift.

  Eventually, he said, “We’ve been at this a while now. Are you hungry? What do you like to eat?”

  He washed the faux skin sheaths off his hands.

  I searched my memory for human foods. I had forgotten all about my previous life while on the arena ship, but memories resurfaced fast now, stimulated by the language I was hearing and remembering.

  “Pot Roast.” I said. “Can I get up?”

  The scientist won out. “You can sit up but stay under the Diagnose; the evaluation’s not done and I want to watch the readouts.”

  He retracted the overhanging device enough to clear my head. I sat on the invisible field, legs dangling. In moments he had a tray of food suspended before me, floating in air. I played with it a bit, moving it this way and that, looking for wires or jets. No such. He pulled the holo fields down from the machine so he could observe the systems of my body as I ate.

  I’d eaten about half when I paused. I’d started to say, “In my time,” but stopped myself and began “Once upon a time…” because I couldn’t tell if the doctor studied religious history. Would he know I was speaking of issues of the late twentieth century and not the middle twenty first? “…some pastors said they wouldn’t judge, since judgment was the providence of the Father, and then they’d go on to make nasty comments about people who believed things they wouldn’t and behaved in ways they didn’t approve of.” I resumed devouring the luscious pot roast.

  “That’s hypocrisy,” Doc said. “Very common. In Proverbs the Lord admonishes us to be good judges, not judgmental.”

  I didn’t push. To point out his prejudice against the construct wouldn’t go over well. If he felt insulted, he might shut himself off from further conversation.

  I said, “They believed homosexuality was just plain wrong, and they figured God would sort out the atheists and agnostics. I once heard a pastor say that global warmers believed burning coal created deserts. His argument was, deserts had always existed, which he thought proved the people alarmed about climate change were wrong. Over time, he pointed out, lush green places turned into deserts and vice versa. The Bible described deserts, he said, so global warming was nonsense.” I hoped I hadn’t dated myself too badly.

  “Sounds like a misunderstanding.”

  “Also, they didn’t understand how warming would cause increases in precipitation. The concept of the melted polar ice vaporizing into the atmosphere, causing more clouds, rain and snow which raised the water table eluded them. They thought, since more rain or snow fell in some places, the globe was cooling, not warming.”

  Doc agreed. “If you believe false things, then you can’t recognize the truth, and you argue that what is true is false.”

  I continued. “In the olden days, it seemed like the less science you understood, the more likely you were to dismiss reality and believe the cultural parts of the Holy Book. The old timers believed every word in the Bible was God’s Word. If that’s true, then slavery and violence are normal behaviors and not something we should criminalize and discriminate against.”

  “And you believe what?” Doc asked. The slavery comment had bothered him. Violence was written all over her body. Wasn’t this essentially the life those who had created her had imposed on her, he thought? He didn’t realize he’d begun referring to the construct as her.

  “I believe Jesus is a powerful symbol, and well meaning men attempted to codify moral guidelines, and they did this through parables. The Bible also describes actual historical events and military strategy written in the same type of language, so I can see how someone might get confused and think the fictional stories were real things happening to actual people, when they were fictional stories designed to carry a message regarding the right and wrong ways to behave.”

  “Yes, some of us understand this,” Doc said.

  I continued. “There’s too much violence and retribution in the Bible, as there was in the human experience of the era. If I could take that leap of faith and believe in the God of the Christian Faith, then my God would be so much further advanced than me, he’d make his Word known without violence or retribution. This makes a lot more sense than the violent biblical deity, who is obviously not omnipotent, like God is supposed to be. Humans comprehend this dilemma. I believe the God as described in the Bible is simply men trying to describe God and influence behavior. My God would be so obviously truthful that no one would need to question. We’d just all follow. The Biblical God is beset by problems because human interpretation is confined to their perspective, which in the times the stories were written involved violence, retribution, and, well, was contradictory, as is the Bible.”

  Doc interrupted. “I’m surprised at the depth of your thinking about this.”

  “And you thought this was just another pretty face,” I said.

  He glanced at my disaster of a face. I’m sure I saw his mouth twitch.

  “Do you believe you were created in God’s image?” he asked after a while.

  “I was made by humans in their image. ‘Created in God’s image’ is a pretty arrogant human statement, I think.”

  “Seems more likely God was created in man’s image by man than the other way around, doesn’t it?” Doc asked.

  “Yes, though we’re made of specific combinations of some all the atoms and molecules we know to exist, so in this sense, since God everything, we’re all part of, and children of, God. If all things are composed of a portion of all the elements, and you want to call the entirety of these elements and the forces bringing them together in their various combinations and tearing them apart as well, “God”, then we are the sons and daughters of God.”

  “That’s a very scientific approach,” Doc said. “Personally I can’t understand why so many Christians are skeptical and even afraid of science when science doesn’t just disprove some beliefs, but adds to our knowledge. As a scientist, I’d think they’d want to have the chance to validate their beliefs with facts, but they seem to be afraid. Dogma which doesn’t change, and dare I say evolve as we discover previously unrealized truths and verify them, cannot be correct. The truth is, the more we learn, the more we learn we have more to learn. I think understanding the formerly misunderstood or unknown can enhance our appreciation of God and His creation, if we’re brave and honest enough to let go of those convictions which are proven to be untrue.”

  It was my turn to stare at him. I remembered the wisdom I’d learned so long ago on Earth; the more you know, the more you know you don’t know.

  Doc continued to talk while he worked. “I grew up on Earth. When I was a child, most of the people in my little town believed themselves so good, God-fearing, and God-like, they thought they had the right to judge and criticize those who didn’t think as they described or behave as they prescribed. They
thought, God is right and therefore since I follow God’s Word, then I am also right, and I can punish you when I decide you’re not right with God. I always recoil from this kind of conceit. I don’t believe any deity except a false one would accept punitive behavior from believers. I think this is one of the reasons Christianity has become a declining faith, for the most part, because Christians believe they are right and everyone else is wrong. This is felonious, insulting thinking. Conflicts continue to rage among denominations and even between churches about whose interpretations are the correct ones. The notion that you are inferior to me because you disagree with me has crushed faith and discussion. Yet this is still a powerful tyranny used by the faithful that allows them to dismiss others and falsely validate themselves. This interpretation of God’s word disables us and these forms of Christianity are delusions which have done humanity immense harm over the centuries. I still meet Christians who think like that.”

  Doc was opening up all right.

  “Way back,” I said, “people used home schooling and other physical and ideological isolations to keep behavior and ideas they felt were unacceptable away from them and their kids. Some actually retarded their children scholastically. You can’t teach what you don’t know, and you can impart your misunderstandings, ignorance and bigotry. Differences of opinion and lifestyle were perceived as assaults on their beliefs and way of life. They took as offense any thought unlike their own and became offensive in response. That’s not religion, but arrogance, selfishness, and a perverse hatred of otherness; what the Bible calls ‘froward’[ii] thinking. [Perverse: willfully contrary; refractory; not easily managed.] These are people with deep feelings of inadequacy and victimhood trying to manipulate others into agreeing with them and being the same as them, to validate their contrariness, and if this isn’t possible, to hurt those who disagree. I think this behavior is pathological. People who want to control others enjoy using fear as tactic. Believe that or behave that way and bad things will happen to you. Believe this and behave thus and you’ll be rewarded. Heaven and Hell are the folly of the writers of the Word.

  “The men who collated the Bible stories left important stuff out. The Book of Mary was excluded. They changed things, too. Mary Magdalene was regarded as a prostitute. The Virgin Mary’s entire human life was ignored. Think of what she’d have taught us! Ignoring her reflects the sexism of the day. And Thomas wrote about a mean and nasty five year old Jesus who by age eight had turned himself around and had become kind and generous[iii]. That’s a lesson humans need if any, and the powerful men of the time left it out, which tells me more about them than Jesus and God.”

  Doc said, “I agree. People who are secure in their beliefs are not afraid of the truth. As a doctor, I know Mary wasn’t a virgin. There’s no such thing as resurrection, except in the sense of the writers ‘resurrecting’ Jesus in the centuries after his death to further Christianity in a violent land needing taming. The Scriptures were designed to combat tyrannical human behavior. They did the best they knew how. No one understood the brain or thought or consciousness in those times. The concept of thinking as divinely and demonically inspired helped make ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ fathomable to disorganized minds, and organized them. Unfortunately the teachings devolved into the same kind of tyranny they sought to suppress. That’s what happens when your God is reported to use violence and threats to get His way. People are imitative. When I read the Bible, I replace ‘fear the Lord’ with ‘respect and love Him’. This makes more sense.”

  I said, “You asked me what I believe. When we used to bury the deceased in the soil, their bodies dissolved into atoms and molecules and rejoined the lifecycle. I think our consciousness does this, too. Our souls dissolve and disperse into ‘basic elements’, for lack of a better term, and join a communal consciousness which we all can tap into. The answers to our questions come from here, but the ignorance goes there, too. It’s our duty to seek the truth and behave accordingly in this life, so when we die, we can enhance, and not negate, the communal conscience. The concepts of heaven and hell are not necessary to direct behavior.

  “I also believe truth is life, as it is - raw and unfinished, and life doesn’t care about humanity, has no personality or soul, and can’t punish and reward. Humans are only a minute speck in the infinity of existence. Fallible people made up the Bible and God. Confused and wishful people came up with the concepts of heaven and hell in the attempt to control behavior to make living easier for everyone, or maybe just for themselves, but they misinterpreted. Life is violent, generous, and mundane, and so are humans.

  “Human beings are not the only species which attempt to organize their behavior to make things better for all. It’s a natural desire of many sentients to try to control their own and others’ actions so their lives are less violent and more prosperous. Races which have advanced further have learned to manage themselves and leave the rest to their own devices, and yet, everyone must defend against crime and trespass. Each species, and even individuals within species, is at a different level of emotional, spiritual, and psychological maturity. Ideas influence conduct. Managing one’s own ideology, and therefore behavior, and guarding against violence perpetrated by those of less mature ideology and behavior, are the successful strategies of many advanced species. I spent much of my life among violent criminals, but I was able to stay true to my ideals within the circumstances, for the most part. Yet so much was beyond my influence, and at some point I just had to realize this was always going to be so. Anyway, nobody ever has complete control. Bad things happen. Good things happen. There’s no intelligence, reward system, or punishment behind it, and the kind of person you are doesn’t affect this. Control is a slippery illusion. Heaven is only an ideal. Hell is a fantasy. So what is our motivation to be good? Peace and prosperity, community and safety. Isn’t this enough? Let’s stop confusing the issue.”

  Doc chuckled. “I’ve always believed there is a God. My God wants love and respect, and I comply. Curiously, I’m a scientist; I respect and love science, detection, getting at the truth – The Truth. I like your analogy that the elements and the forces moving them are God, and everything is a part of God. Your description of what happens to the soul after death, and our duties to a communal conscience appeals to me. Prayer for me is the way I discover solutions. First I find the question, and then answers occur to me. Maybe they come from this communal conscience you describe. I don’t know. Yours is as good a description as any I’ve heard. I’m a scientist. I search for the truth. I think God is The Truth.”

  I broke in. “Unfortunately scientists often fall short, too. They’re human after all. But since science is an ongoing discipline, which doesn’t stop and say, alright, we’ve got the answer, we’re done now. Scientists continue on and eventually correct their mistakes when new information is proven. They’re like religionists in that they are bound by their experiences, however. They understand only the smallness of their experience and they try to project this as the entirety of reality, but their experiences are really just a tiny part of the whole. It’s very human to fill in what we don’t understand with projections of the things we’ve already discovered, or even fictionalize solutions. In science, theory falls by the wayside when truths are proven. For religionists, well, they believe they’ve got all the answers, so they stagnate in their fictions.”

  Doc said sagely, “I think the fear of ostracism by family, friends, and community keeps more people in the faith than anything else. The dread of being shunned allows folks to accept fallacious arguments and think and do things they otherwise wouldn’t without that righteous pressure.”

  I nodded my agreement. “I also have a problem with denominations collecting their adherents’ dollars to buy ancient artifacts and the technologically advanced vaults to house them in. Or using the money collected to advertise and influence people in order to affect legislation and impose their morality on everyone. And like I mentioned before, my doubt began with the commandment ‘honor thy f
ather and thy mother’.” Here I had to be careful to seem to speak as the construct, and not as myself, Carol. “I regarded the scientists and the military personnel who made me and trained me as my mothers and fathers, yet they sold me into slavery. I was angry. For a long time I enjoyed the arena, the killing.”

  “You felt betrayed and ostracized,” Doc said.

  I couldn’t let Doc know about my little tribe, our death by blob, and my soul’s bounce into the construct’s body; the real reason I’d angrily turned into a killing machine. Instead, for this conversation, I blamed my anger on having been sold to Spauch after meritorious service to humans. This would become a trap for me if the stories were discussed between others, say, Jack and Doc. Jack could tell of my not remembering anything before my ‘face in the sand’ comment. Doc might reply, but wait, she told me she remembered being angry at being sold to Spauch. I decided to risk it. Memories were, in fact coming back, just not the construct’s. My own. I couldn’t tell the truth. I wouldn’t be believed, or worst, I’d be judged insane. Hopefully no one would notice.

  I thought fast. I wanted to tell him what a neighbor had explained to me over two centuries ago, in Show Low, Arizona, but constructs didn’t have neighbors. Constructs were soldiers.

  “A soldier once told me that the original commandment read, ‘honor thy father and thy mother in righteousness’. She said the original scriptures had been translated so many times that much had been lost, and the translators had their own agendas as well. So between their manipulations, the misinterpretations, and the books which were lost and left out, how can we believe what any individual Bible says? Fanciful writings from folks trying to influence the thoughts and behaviors of others, and fancy explanations of natural events ancient people had no science to explain, make up a large amount of the so called ‘Word of God’. Weather alone would have been terrifying to primitive peoples, not to mention organized and vicious armies of conquerors.”

  “So do you pick and choose which of the Scriptures you believe are true and which are fanciful writings?” Doc asked me.

  “Of course. The men who put the Bible together picked and chose what books to keep and which to abandon. So I pick and choose, too.

  “Certain truths exist and adherence to them generates good. Ignorance or rejection of them causes evil. Truths can be codified, for example, we agree, I think, that people who believe they are right and others wrong spend much of their time and energy trying to manipulate those they believe are wrong into agreeing with them. If they can’t accomplish this, they punish those they perceive are wrong. Those who resort to punishment when they don’t get their way are the ones who are wrong, in this case. Oh, speaking of truth, I’m fairly sure John ate too much grain with ergot in it before he wrote Revelations.”

  Doc laughed out loud. He recovered and said, “I can’t figure out crucifix jewelry. I feel certain Jesus wouldn’t want the device used to torture him to be a symbol of Christianity, and this is one of the Devil’s tricks on us. Of course, whenever I state this to my faithful brethren, they’re scandalized.”

  “And you’re just wrong, right?”

  “Exactly. Also, every Biblist since the beginning believed they lived living in the “End of Days”, but the Greek word for apocalypse literally means the act of disclosure; revealing or disclosing. I looked it up, it’s in my dictionary. Revelation is the discovery and disclosure of truths previously unknown, or misunderstood, which change perceptions. My Christian friends could use more revelations.”

  “I agree. The lessons are what are important. The Biblical stories aren’t necessary to teach those, though. Too much misunderstanding and misinterpretations result from Biblical metaphors and the messages are lost in translation. Many other species disseminate the same information more effectively. Not all, of course, barbarians exist out there as well as sophisticated, mature creatures, cultures, and everything in between. Every race is at a different stage of development, but some very old ones exist in the Infinite, older than humans. I lived among a sampling of them for decades, learning their languages. You’d be surprised at the amount of time we slaves spent discussing right and wrong. The Golden Rule has variations across many species. Honestly, humans are so human centric.”

  Doc nodded, “Do you believe there are universal truths, like ‘Thou Shall Not Murder’, for instance?”

  “Yes. Violence begets violence, our duty to each other is to be the best we can be, an eye for an eye blinds us all, Thou Shall Not Murder, defense of self or others against violence is necessary and acceptable, and many more exists among the peoples of the Infinite. And here I’ve been killing for over sixteen decades. So much for sticking to my principles.” I sighed and pushed aside the empty meal tray. Doc shoved it over to the cooker where it hovered.

  “Did you have a choice?” he asked.

  “No. After I stopped being angry, I tried to starve to death, and get myself killed in the arena so I wouldn’t have to kill any more, but these didn’t work. This body has a mind of its own,” I said, looking down. “The damn thing rebelled and saved itself: ate, and killed. I couldn’t commit suicide, or get out of the ring until I’d ended my opponent. Still… I don’t know how many creatures’ lives I ended. So many…”

  “Where did they come from?” Doc asked while sending the Diagnose back into its housing in the ceiling.

  “I heard Spauch bought convicted violent criminals from various planets in the Infinite.”

  “Well, there you are. You killed killers. You adapted to the context of your circumstances. You did the best you could, considering. You have valuable and loyal friends who seem to believe the same way as you do. I’d say you did well.” Doc took my hand. “G-9SRO25T, we’re done for the day. I need to go over these diagnostics. The deputies’ll take you to your quarters.”

  He spoke over my head as I walked toward them. “Find her some clothes, will you?”

  I was almost to the door when he said, “G-9SRO25T.” I turned. “The designation’s awkward, isn’t it? Can I call you Gina?”

  I smiled. Complete success. “That would be pleasant, Doctor.”

  “See you tomorrow, Gina. Rest well.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  The guards led me through the corridors, one before me and one behind, as if two humans could contain me should I chose not to be contained. We stopped in front of a panel door which slid aside when one of the guards palmed a pad on the wall. The other entered and demonstrated for me how to activate the cupboards using finger pads and pulled out a jumpsuit. He showed me the lovely, though Spartan, bathroom components. It pleased me when I noticed I had a bathtub. Apparently humans brought their luxuries into space, at least for guests. I’d learned from the slaves that many species enjoyed submerging in water, which was a precious commodity in the Infinite. You never knew when you’d find some, or how much time would pass while you located a source. Of course, Spauch could afford shipments since he was wealthy, but a Force ship? I was grateful.

  The deputies stepped out and closed the panel and I found the palm pad on my side didn’t open the door. Hmmm.

  I put on the jumpsuit and lay down on the bed, a fine mattress on a pedestal full of storage drawers, and rested. Soon I fell comfortably asleep.

  Someone was by my bedside. Two someones actually, a large human male and a slender alien, both in uniform. I didn’t move.

  “Ghee-nye, you can dim the lights by voice command,” the man said. Jack must have told them what to call me.

  “Oh, thank you,” I sat up on the edge of the bed. “I was so tired I didn’t even try.”

  “Ghee-nye, my name is Sergeant Staupher, and this is Senior Deputy Enna. She’s the ship’s translation technician. She would like you to help her program the translator to recognize Kek’s people’s language. Will you give her a hand?”

  “Yes, of course. That’s right up my alley. Nice to meet you Sergeant Staupher, Senior Deputy Enna,” I stood. She bent slightly toward me so I bowed back. r />
  “Call me Enna.”

  “Right. I’ll leave you to it.” Sergeant Staupher left and the deputy exited with him. Apparently I was being guarded full time.

  “Ghee-nye, thank you for your kind help,” Enna said with a beautiful accent. I had not met her species before. She motioned to my little dining area. “Shall we sit?”

  Watching this alien maneuver her body into a chair made for the human frame was an interesting sight. I couldn’t imagine that anything remotely resembling chairs were built on Enna’s planet.

  “Please, call me Ghee, or Gina, if you prefer.” Ah, the pleasantries of polite society. I was already beginning to feel less like a barbarian. It was going to be an adjustment though.

  “Thank you,” said Enna, “now please, we will start with something simple. Pronouns. Can you tell me how to say, ‘I’ in Kek’s language?”

  So I spent about five hours with Enna, and as she requested various examples, I asked her to tell me how to say the same words in her language. The machine listened and learned. Pretty soon Enna and I were conversing in English while the translator repeated in Kek’s language. I spoke the kin’s tongue and the translator verbalized the English translation. We even had an elementary conversation in Enna’s language, after she programmed the device to translate it into Kek’s. The time was spent pleasantly.

  Jack arrived.

  He greeted Enna, and she thanked me and scooted out the door.

  “She was nice,” I said, yawning.

  “You had a busy day, didn’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes. You?” I amazed myself by actually being interested.

  “Too long, but interesting. Have you eaten?”

  “Yeah, but I could do with some more of that delectable human food.”

  Jack walked around me to the cooker while asking what I’d eaten.

  “Pot roast, and it was delicious.”

  “So, how about lasagna and a garden salad?”

  Oh, boy!

  “Yes, please,” I begged.

  Jack spoke to the wall and food appeared in a depression.

  “How ‘bout some wine? A saucy merlot?”

  “Please!”

  Jack chuckled. He placed a plate of bruscetta on the table, opened the bottle and poured. I contemplated the loveliness of having a human male serve me as he sat.

  Ooh, toasted fresh bread and tomatoes! I hadn’t tasted fruit or veg in forever. A strong burst of basil and olive oil filled my senses. I realized how basic the food on Spauch’s ship had been, and I’d looked forward to dinner so much!

  I’m afraid I inhaled the appetizer and the glass of wine.

  “Ready for salad?”

  “I love a man who cooks,” I quipped.

  A few seconds passed before Jack got it. Everyone seemed to use the cooker here. He smiled, an expression which completely changed his face. It was a nice one. He spoke again to the device and then placed big fresh bowls of lettuce, finely chopped vegetables, croutons, cheese, cherry tomatoes, cucumber slices, and an assortment of dressings on the table in front of me. He poured the rest of the merlot into our glasses. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had raw food. Jack again sat down across from me.

  The uncooked produce crunched unpleasantly in my mouth, but my memory kicked in. Although I wasn’t used to fresh, ripe produce anymore, by the time I finished the bowlful, salad tasted just right. I sipped the wine while Jack worked his way through his bowlful.

  “Is this the real thing?” I asked.

  “The real thing?” Jack dabbed his lips with a cloth napkin he’d retrieved from one of the cupboards. I realized getting the whole eating-in-public behavior down again would take me a while. I’d eaten too fast. “The cooker is programmed to synthesize meals from elemental components in storage. The products are exact copies of the originals, down to the last amino acid and B vitamin.”

  “Huh,” I grunted, “Real enough.”

  “Good?”

  “Delicious.”

  Jack spoke to the wall unit again, retrieved the steaming pasta dish, placed the two bowls on the table, and resumed eating his salad.

  I took a big bite of the lasagna. Mmm, boy, it was soooo good. The sauce was slightly sweet and meaty, the veg crunchy but cooked through, and tons of cheese swamped the layers.

  “Oh! Heaven! I haven’t had lasagna in two lifetimes.”

  Jack chuckled. “Did the deputies show you how everything works?”

  “Yes. One deputy even ordered me a glass of water from the cooker.”

  “You were just waiting for me then.”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “You noticed the guards.”

  “Can’t miss ‘em. I’m a prisoner.”

  “I said you wouldn’t have human rights here. You’re not exactly a guest, but I’ll fix that. I’ve already submitted a Request for a Formal Human Rights Hearing and a Marriage Petition. You didn’t expect them to give a killer the full run of the ship, did you?”

  “So blunt, Jack, please. I’m trying to remember the niceties of polite conversation.”

  “Oh, Ghee, I don’t mean to be rude. You know how I feel about you.”

  “Not really, we’ve only just met.”

  “I told you I’d marry you.”

  “Thanks, but again, we’ve only just met. And telling isn’t asking at the appropriate time,” I emphasized.

  He chewed that one over.

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m a little confused how to speak to you, considering the circumstances we met in.”

  “S’alright.”

  “How’d Doc treat you?”

  “Like a table, at first, but I thawed him out. He nicknamed me.”

  “You have a way about you. What’s the nickname?”

  “Gina.”

  “I like that. Gina. That’s nice. I’m surprised. I always thought Doc was kind of a cold fish. What did you talk about?”

  “Religion.”

  “Religion!”

  “Christianity, precisely.”

  “You’ve lost me completely, but okay.”

  “Aren’t you religious, Jack?”

  “Not in the slightest. I need to understand some species’ religious practices where they relate to our negotiations, though. You?”

  ”Agnostic.”

  “Interesting. I can see what happened. The doubting construct confounded the scientific Christian into breaking down and talking about his beliefs. You want to get into my line of work? You’d do great things, Ghee. I’ve seen Doc’s fish, too.”

  “He doesn’t hide it well.”

  “No need, really, although they are a conflicted bunch, Christians. They pretty much keep to themselves.”

  “The Bible contradicts itself. Some stories are history, true in many ways. Some are a reflection of the period’s culture, and others are myth. The societies during the period were brutal.”

  You’ve read it? You believe that book?”

  “Like I said, I’m agnostic. I trust in science and provable reality. Walking on water and turning it into wine doesn’t fit into that.”

  “Mostly, folks today aren’t Christians, just so you know. I think most people are what you’re calling agnostic. ‘God’ is all that is: small particles, atoms, molecules, the forces: electromagnetic, gravity, strong and weak nuclear, water, flora and fauna, planets, suns, moons, galaxies, the universe.”

  “The universe! There’s no such thing.” I unwisely ejaculated. Geez, I should know better than to throw a guy’s erroneous knowledge back in his face. Getting used to being around humans again wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. Most people in this era aren’t like those of my time, I would find out. They don’t become upset when someone contradicts them. Rather, they seek the information, opinions, observations, determinations, and beliefs of others in order to make informed decisions and get along in a multi-specied reality.

  Jack looked startled again.

  “Explain,” he said, his mouth full.
>
  “You describe your understanding of the universe first. I’ve been out of circulation a long time.”

  He laughed. “Okay. Keep in mind this is not my field and I only have a deputy’s knowledge of space. Our universe came from a huge blast which created everything at once and it’s expanding and accelerating outward. We’ve not been able to find the center or the leading edge yet – the first matter which was projected outward - or the outer edge of another one, either.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell you what I determined from the various species I discussed this with on Spauch’s ship.”

  “Excellent.” Jack pushed his salad and lasagna bowls toward the middle of the table and touched another finger pad in the wall. A door slid opened, located between us and he dumped the dishes in. “Recycler,” he explained. He ordered a second bottle of merlot from the cooker and uncorked it, this time setting the wine on the table to breathe. I pushed my own utensils into the hole in the wall and fingered the pad. The little door closed.

  “Okay,” I said, “in the Infinite, which is a surprisingly uniform definition of space among the more advanced species I know of, the concept of ‘universe’ is unknown. They use the term ‘the Infinite’ for space, and a common language utilized by many peoples is called ‘trade speech’, or ‘Infinite Standard’. If you want to call the Infinite ‘the universe’ it won’t translate, or will, only as the Infinite. No one’s found an end to the Infinite yet, hence the name.

  “They’ll recognize the region you call home as ‘the universe’ if you introduce the word and concept to them and give the coordinates for the area you believe encompasses the materials from your Big Bang. You and I can name any region experiencing an event reducing matter and energy to its basic elements and blasting them outward at increasing speed a ‘universe’.

  “Blasts like supernovae, black and white holes, gamma ray bursts - anything spewing energy and matter into a region of space and time are the Infinite recycling,” I pointed to the recycler, “bits of itself. There’re various ways this happens. Stars explode and reduce nearby matter to molecules, atoms, and smaller particles, deforming the material located farther out and blowing it all out. The deformed rock will be at the leading expanding edge of the universe and that’s how you can find it. Stars create heavy metals by nuclear fusion and spew them out. Forces coalesce the infinitesimal bits into larger, more mature structures. Collisions disperse and combine material, spin occurs, gravity initiates, orbits form, gasses unite to make water and air, and over time microorganisms, bacteria, algae, amoeba, plants, fish, you name it, grow, and life begins.

  “Some stars explode and implode to create black holes which suck energy and matter in and spit it out of white holes in other regions in different times of the Infinite. Black-white hole pairs occur in many sizes, as do stars and galaxies and virtually everything we can name. The Milky Way began in this manner and your universe did, too.

  “A finite number of elements exist, but not all of them end up in every creation, and not in equivalent concentrations, and the forces develop in different strengths, all of which are why the systems and species differ. The atmosphere on the arena ship was almost the same as Earth’s and the Mark Burgess’. The creatures I fought with and spoke to on Spauch’s vessel came from planets with similar attributes. They told me about other species which thrive in different types of atmospheres and conditions, say, those who respire helium or hydrate with ammonia, whose planetary gravities are heavier or lighter, and who otherwise can’t interact with our kind easily. Interacting with them takes a massive expenditure of energy and expertise and wealth. A few traders are accomplished at trading with these other kinds for some precious commodities, but only the very rich can afford to. Of course they go after materials in extreme demand and limited supply, therefore the profits justify the difficulty and expense. Unbelievable wealth is created from this type of trading. Wealthy traders dominate the field.

  “Humans, and other species, too, can’t know any more than they’ve experienced, and although they can imagine anything, they can’t prove everything. All creatures try to apply the concepts they already understand to those they haven’t figured out yet, so a higher level of nonsensical or mystical explanations is a result of ignorance and inexperience. Likewise, sophistication is dependant on experience and understanding.

  “The laws operating in your little region of the Infinite operate in all other regions in some form: stronger, weaker, similar. Many more rules exist which humans haven’t discovered yet.

  “Anyway, the entirety of space isn’t cut up into universes. It just goes on and on. One species even tracked the recycling process in one region by directing something elemental and recognizable into a black-white hole system, and found the white hole spewed the material out in the same proportions as the stuff was put in. Of course by doing this they changed the composition of the renewing system, maybe not such a good idea. Complicated mathematical equations are used to determine precisely when life will arise in a newly recycled area of matter and energy. The timing depends on certain measurable criteria, and they can even tell the rate of the new life’s development.”

  “That’s quite advanced,” Jack said.

  “So, for instance on a smaller, galactic scale, there could have been a gigantic sun where the Milky Way galaxy’s black hole is now. When the sun died, the explosion blew out the basics and they coalesced to create the Milky Way. It also imploded into the black hole now at the center of the Milky Way. The young black hole ate the matter and energy and expelled them through a white hole in another regiontime in the Infinite, creating a sibling galaxy to the Milky Way somewhere else in space sometime. The regiontime that currently contains the Milky Way galaxy actually experienced a net loss of matter and energy, and the regiontime of the sibling galaxy experienced a net gain.

  “By the way, the Milky Way’s black hole is nearing the end of its life, in cosmic terms. That galaxy is still expanding at an increasing rate in response to the force of the explosion of our hypothetic gigantic sun, but baby stars are forming near its center. This tells us that this cavity has lost much of its energy, because those materials and energies would not have been able to coalesce into stars if the distortion was young and vibrant. The chaotic forces of a younger black hole prevent star formations. Fresh kinks are very kinetic, but the older they get, the weaker they become. Eventually they stop pulling things in. The singularity at the center of the Milky Way will blink shut as the white hole elsewherewhen winks closed, too. Its matter and energy’ll continue to expand forever outward just as your universe has done, because there’s no friction in space to slow down the expansion of either galaxy.

  “Also, blasts of all sizes continually come into existence and die out, causing ripples in the microwave background like when you drop something into the water. Sometimes, by the time you find the waves the original cause is gone. These blasts add to the speed of your universe’s expansion.

  “One day Earth’s sun will nova and recycle its own little region, adding to the forces of dilation and imploding into a small vacuity. Some or all of the system will spew out of a white emission in another regiontime.

  “That’s what they think about space.”

  “Ghee, you’re fascinating, but you’re giving me a headache! I’m just a lowly negotiator.”

  “Sorry. I find it interesting. I had plenty of time to listen. Let’s change the subject. Am I allowed to watch movies and read books aboard this ship? I need to catch up on humanity.”

  “We have a library that you can access from here. I’ll show you how, and I want to take you to the mat room, too. Would you to tune me up and teach me your alien moves?”

  “You want to fight with me?”

  “Yes, if you think you will without crippling me. Can you?”

  “I’ll try,” I smiled.

  I thought about touching Jack. The smell of him from across the table intoxicated me.

  In fact, I ended up ‘tuning up’ the ent
ire crew of the ship, while Kek’s people examined four different planets and conferred to make their decision.

  The Mek chose a beautiful world and settled in the warm, temperate zone. They called the planet KekTan, or Great Kek, after Kek, my former guard, who negotiated the Mek exodus, transport, and resettlement with the humans. They renamed themselves the “free kin”, but the words in their own language was MekKop, so I didn’t enlighten them about what “freakin’” meant in English. For all I knew, people weren’t using the same slang anymore anyway. Kek’s kin asked me to live with them on their planet, and I agreed after the authorities released me. Getting used to the wind and sunburn and dirt and rain and the seasonal changes took a while, but we forced ourselves. I felt safe among them.

  Doc and his associates worked on the cure. Over fifty billion human lives had been snuffed out, and just over seventy-four million remained uninfected by the time the scientists, cloistered on a military battle cruiser retrofitted with their equipment, had been able to stop the pox. Doc explained to me in layman’s terms how the Nameloids reintroduced three viruses and a bacterium, bringing back those human infections of the past. The diseases caused by these particular infecting agents had been “cured” by eliminating their vectors, not by vaccine. This meant the humans had no immunity to them, natural or otherwise. The Nameloids engineered the viruses to be pneumonic and super virulent, and the bacteria produced toxins which killed the hematocysts sent out by the immune system to kill them. People died in less than two weeks, mainly from dehydration. With the model of my genome, the synthesis engineers and molecular geneticists altered gene sequences and deliver them via vaccine into every uninfected person. Existing segments of DNA were sliced out by the genes and the modified bits inserted, creating an immune system similar to mine. The mutated sections created protein blockers specific to the receptors the viruses docked at, blocking them, and beefed up the hematocysts so they were able to overcome the toxins.

  This is too simplistic an explanation and I’m sure I misunderstood. I’m no doctor, but you get the point.

  The medical community had been curing diseases caused by gene malfunctions in individuals for over a century and a half, however this constituted the first incidence of population-wide artificially induced evolution. The new improved immune systems would replicate in the embryos of the new improved humans.

  No one could anticipate the consequences, and fear and speculation were rife. Most folks, though, understood the alternative had been extinction.

  People are always afraid of what they don’t understand, and the gap between knowledge and ignorance is ever increasing.

  Anyway, my super immunity hadn’t hurt me. I hadn’t been sick a day in my alien life. Once in a while I still wondered when I’d die and what would be the cause. Maybe someday someone would drop a building on me.

  The Department worked on contacting the ruling bodies of the four self-sufficient planets to inform them of the threat and offer deliverance.

  The MekKop negotiated with the Space Force and Union to obtain for themselves training and building materials. In time they proved to be excellent engineers, builders, deputies, traders, and even diplomats. Within four of their planetary years, with human help, they erected a university utilized by the Space Force, the MekKop, those species still trading with humans, and people who resided in or were able to travel to the Union protected region. An orbiting space port was built for the Department, which settled its new headquarters and the Sheriff on KekTan. A separate, luxurious civilian orbiter for visitors was also created. Shuttles flew continuously from the planet’s surface to the satellites. KekTan became known as the safest port and planet in the new Galactic Union. The MekKop earned the reputation as the best security providers anywhere.

  Jack and I did not marry, but we developed a deep friendship. He retired from the Force and became an intergalactic diplomat stationed on KekTan. He divided his time between negotiating and renegotiating trade treaties for humans and Mek, and in my apartment with me.

  The Mek bred like bunnies. They’d been disallowed from having more children than could replace them on Spauch’s ship, and they had their huge and gorgeous new home to populate. They were a very merry bunch. Soon the whole planet filled with infants named Jon and Jak and Not. The kin introduced the three-name concept to honor Jack and to tell their children apart. A Jak might be Jak Set Pok or Nor Jak Ged, and I think every child, male and female, born for several generations, had a Jon, Jak, or Not in their appellation. The designation “Kek”, on the other hand, was reserved as an honorific for the Mek diplomatic corps. Mek Diplomats adopted the name Kek in front of their own.

  Something I highly approved of was the introduction of cats to the planet. A voracious little mole-type creature lived all over the place, making farming difficult. Humans worked on genetically lowering the pests’ birth rate, and brought in felines to see if they would help get the existing population under control. The Mek didn’t want to use chemicals, and traps were inefficient. In fact, the cats went crazy for the moles. The Mek went nuts for the cats. Any time a visitor brought a cat or kitten to KekTan, the guest was treated like royalty. The MekKop bred the best predators and helped them teach their offspring to hunt, but housed them in an enclosed park. Many of these kittens were released to the wild after being spayed and neutered, so their populations were controlled. They also altered the not-so-great hunters and kept them as house pets. The cats reached the status of cows in India, protected and worshipped, and the released ones were fed treats and handled by everyone to ensure they didn’t become too wild. The career of veterinarian became a high ambition among the kids.

  Only one of the self-sufficient planets refused to interact with us, and so was still at risk of the pox. Fortunately, they seemed unwilling to communicate with anyone, but if the Nameloids found them and wanted their world, they would be doomed. The planet was located in the Milky Way, almost exactly opposite of Earth on the other side of the black hole. The Space Force had four manned satellites orbiting their globe at all times, and every six of their months sent a communication probe down to the surface. We waited patiently for their reply.