“Very well,” he replies as easily as if she’d asked him the time. “We should run an in-depth diagnostic on the Daedalus. Although my initial scans indicate that she remains fully fueled and in good condition, we will want to be certain of that before we begin to travel. It should take no more than an hour or two.”
It startles her that he understands they’re about to travel through the Gates to other worlds, but of course he does. Abel would’ve realized the implications as soon as he explained the Gate’s flaw to her. However, there’s one thing he doesn’t understand yet. “We have to wait.”
Abel gives her a look. “So you want to end a deadly and destructive war, but there’s… no rush?”
Noemi’s not sure why Mansfield decided to give a mech the capacity for sarcasm. “I’m only an ensign,” she says, tapping the single gray stripe on the cuff of her green exosuit sleeve. “This mission—it’s risky, and there could be drawbacks I haven’t seen—”
“I would have seen them.” His expression is so smug that Noemi wishes she had something in her hands to throw at him.
“Yeah, well, you’re Burton Mansfield’s mech. So forgive me if I don’t trust you completely.”
“If you don’t trust me, why are you undertaking this mission on my word alone?” Abel seems almost irritated. “If I could lie to you about the risks, I could also lie to you about the potential.”
That’s not a bad point, but Noemi doesn’t bother justifying herself to a mech. “My point is, I should run this by my superior officers if I can.”
“Do you wish to fly directly to Genesis?”
Noemi opens her mouth to give the order, then thinks better of it. Yes, she should run this by Captain Baz at least—probably the whole Elder Council. She can imagine standing in their white marble chamber in her dress uniform, looking up at Darius Akide and the other elders, showing them this one chance they have to save their world.
And she can imagine them saying no.
They might not trust Abel’s word. What would it take to convince the Elder Council? They’re so sure the Masada Run is the only way—
She thinks about the various speeches that have been given, the vids they’ve seen in support of the Masada Run. Sacrifice your lives, they say. Sacrifice your children. Only through sacrifice can Genesis survive.
Now she’d be coming back to tell all of Genesis and the Council that there’s another way out. That the Masada Run isn’t necessary and never was. She, Noemi Vidal, a seventeen-year-old ensign, orphaned and newly friendless, backed up only by a mech.
Would the Elder Council even believe her? Worse, would they refuse to back down just to avoid admitting they were wrong?
It’s not that Noemi never doubted the Council before—but this is the first time she’s ever allowed herself to think that they might fail her world so completely. She’s not sure she really believes they would. But they could, and that risk alone is enough.
“Belay that order,” she says slowly. “Run the diagnostic. See if the ship’s ready to travel through the Gates.”
Abel raises one eyebrow. “Does that mean we’re proceeding without approval from your superiors?”
Noemi’s been taking orders her whole life. From the Gatsons, because they were good enough to take her into their family and deserved her obedience. From her teachers, from her commanding officers. She’s tried to obey all of them and the Word of God, too, despite all her doubts and confusion, putting aside her own dreams, because that’s her duty.
But her duty to protect Genesis goes beyond any of that.
“Yes,” Noemi says, staring out at the stars that will guide her. “We’re going to destroy the Gate on our own.”
To save her world, she must learn to stand alone.
10
ABEL DOESN’T LIKE THIS PLAN.
The single strongest conflict within his programming arises from an order that involves working against Earth.
His loyalty to Earth is written into his code. Working against the world of his origin in the war against Genesis betrays all his most critical directives.
All, that is, except one: obeying the human who commands him.
Surely Mansfield never meant for anyone else to wield this authority. But if he’d guessed what could happen to his most prized creation, he would’ve written subroutines to ensure no human could ever force Abel to fight against Earth.
Apparently even the foresight of Burton Mansfield has its limits, which means Abel now has to help destroy the Genesis Gate… and be destroyed along with it.
Without hesitation, he begins a thorough systems check. The Daedalus could easily reach Genesis, but the longer journey ahead will ask far more of their ship. Charts and data written in vivid blue light superimpose themselves on the projected star field. “The Daedalus’s atmospheric, gravitational, sensor, and propulsion systems show various degrees of inefficiency due to three decades without repair or refurbishment,” he reports. “However, all are operational and well within safety parameters. Hull integrity remains solid. Communications will require extensive repairs before we’ll be able to handle more than the most basic planetary and intership messages.” He gestures toward the comms position, which is effectively useless; what communications power they have will need to be routed through the main ops station. “Our shields show sixty percent strength, which is adequate for space travel, including Gate travel, but not acceptable for combat situations.”
Noemi’s expression turns thoughtful as she rests her hands on her hips. “Okay. We’re not going to be picking any fights. Right?”
“Not without your orders,” Abel confirms. “We also have sufficient fuel, as well as emergency rations that, having been kept in vacuum, should remain edible.” They won’t taste very good, if Abel understands human preferences, but that’s Noemi Vidal’s problem. He doesn’t need to eat much or often, and can make do with things that no human would ever consider food. “However, we’re showing instability in the ship’s integrity field. During standard operations, this is unimportant—but traveling through a Gate without a fully functional integrity field is extremely dangerous.”
“Okay.” Noemi nods and sits down. Curiously, she returns to the ops position, not the elevated captain’s chair. Most humans are too hierarchical to forgo these small displays of authority. “How do we fix the integrity field?”
“We’ll need to replace the T-7 anx that anchors the field.” On the screen he brings up a diagram of the part they need, roughly oval-shaped, approximately the length and width of the average human torso. “Ours can make it through one more trip through the Gate. Perhaps two. Beyond that, it will collapse.”
“You’re going to tell me we don’t have a spare T-7 anx on board, aren’t you?”
“Correct.” Abel finds himself taking satisfaction in every problem he can point out. He likes poking holes in her plan to defeat Earth, to destroy him. “We’ll also have to travel through multiple Gates to reach Cray.”