Few people spoke to Burton Mansfield that way. He drew himself upright, and his deep voice seemed to fill the darkness of the bridge. “Abel is different—”
“It’s a machine! I’ve got human lives here to save.” Captain Gee turned toward Abel, frowning when she realized he hadn’t budged. “Is it not working?”
Abel hesitated one instant longer as Mansfield looked at the enormous star field view through the screen that covered two walls and the entire domed ceiling of the bridge. The tide of battle had turned. Genesis would have the day—and, shortly, this ship, if they wanted it.
The Daedalus itself shuddered as it took its first direct weapons fire. Quietly Mansfield said, “Abel, go. Hurry.”
And Abel ran as fast as he could, removed the relevant hard data elements from the computer core quicker than any human ever could have, carried it to the equipment pod bay within four minutes, and launched it at the direct center of the Gate with no delays. He even closed and sealed the outer pod bay doors before the gravity and power snapped off, stranding him in a dark, weightless void.
The whine of the blaster outside has risen a full octave. Abel stares at the empty shells of the cryosleep pods on the wall, as translucent as cicada husks in the reddish emergency lights, then takes up his own weapon again as he turns toward the door.
Sparks flash white; the metal door jerks open amid puffs of smoke. Abel steps out of range, out of sight. Nobody fires. From the total silence, he surmises that the Genesis soldier isn’t even moving.
He knows how little firepower she has left. She does as well. One shot, maybe two. The intruder needs the supplies in this sick bay so badly she effectively disarmed herself to get in here—but now she has to finish him off with a single blast. That opportunity is one he doesn’t have to give her. Abel could easily wait in sick bay to kill her for hours, days, another thirty years if need be. He doesn’t even have to sleep.
(Although he can, and does. During the last thirty years he’s slept quite a lot. Abel has even begun to dream, a development he would very much like to discuss with Burton Mansfield.
Someday.)
But his programming calls for a different plan of action now.
Abel walks away from the cryosleep pods, deliberately treading heavily enough for his opponent to hear. She knows he’s coming, and she won’t fire immediately; instead she’s hanging on for the kill shot at close range.
So he deliberately steps into view at the far end of sick bay, where enough smoke swirls that the Genesis soldier will hold off for another moment.
That’s all he needs to turn his own blaster around, surrendering the weapon to her.
She stares. She’s braced with her back against the wall, blaster held with both hands, shaking. Humans are so excitable. A few strands of her chin-length black hair cling to her sweaty forehead and cheek. Although her brown eyes widen when he keeps walking forward, she doesn’t panic. Doesn’t fire.
“My name is Abel,” he says. “Model One A of the Mansfield Cybernetics mech line. My programming dictates that I am bound to serve the highest human authority aboard this vessel. As of now, that authority is you.”
He holds out the weapon. When she doesn’t take it, he simply sets it on the floor and kicks it toward her. It feels so good to be able to obey his programming again. To have a purpose.
Abel smiles. “What are my orders?”
7
COUNT TO FIVE, NOEMI DECIDES.
If she’s cracking up—if the terror of the past few minutes has scrambled her mind to the point where she’s hallucinating—then this will all go away in a couple of seconds. If this is for real, the mech will be standing here waiting for orders when she’s done.
One. The mech remains still, expression curious and patient.
Two. Noemi takes a deep breath. She remains in her crouch, hand clutching her blaster so tightly her fingers have begun to cramp.
Three. Abel. The mech said its name was Abel. We were taught that there are twenty-five models of mech in the Mansfield Cybernetics line, alphabetical from B to Z. A was for a prototype.
Four. Abel’s face and posture haven’t shifted in the slightest. Would it stand here for an hour? A whole day? At any rate, it hasn’t made any move to get its weapon back.
Five.
Noemi grabs Abel’s blaster. “My friend in the docking bay—she needs medical help, now.”
“Understood. I’ll bring her to sick bay.” Abel takes off down the hallway so quickly that Noemi first thinks it’s escaping—but it’s apparently following her orders, just like it said it would.
Shoving herself to her feet, Noemi runs after the mech, unwilling to let the thing out of her sight even though she knows she can’t possibly keep up.
From Darius Akide’s lectures on mechs, Noemi knows the A model was an experimental model never put into mass production. Could the mech be lying about what it is? Its programming could potentially allow it to lie. But like everyone else on Genesis, she has memorized the faces of every single model of mech. According to her history books, they used to fear infiltration, in the early days of the Liberty War. What if the machines had walked among them, pretending to be human, spying on them all?
While the Queens and Charlies are most familiar to her, Noemi could identify any of Mansfield’s mechs on sight—and she’s never seen this Abel’s face before.
Okay, you found a prototype. It doesn’t matter how it got out here as long as you can use it. Take care of Esther and worry about the rest later.
Her footsteps pound a staccato drumbeat along the corridor as Noemi dashes back to the docking bay. Panting, she stops in the doorway to stare at the scene in front of her. Abel leans over Esther’s damaged fighter, gently scooping her into its arms. Esther’s head lolls back as she murmurs, “Who—who are—”
“It’s a mech,” Noemi calls as she ditches her nearly dead blaster, then holsters Abel’s to her side. “The ship has a fully equipped sick bay. See? We can take care of you.”
Abel moves slowly, deliberately, until Esther rests against its chest in a firm embrace. Then Noemi barely has time to get out of the way before it rushes out, moving at a speed no human could match.
When she gets all the way back up to sick bay, Esther’s lying on a biobed. Abel’s deft fingers move across the controls so swiftly they seem to blur. Noemi goes to Esther’s side and takes her hand.