Alcubierre Space-Time Bubble. The aerogel disappeared from the holosphere and was replaced by an image of Eliana. This time she lay on her back, one arm across her stomach, the other underneath her head, the soft mounds of her breasts rising as she breathed slowly, eyelids shut as she dreamed. Her lustrous hair spread over the bed like black satin cloth, framing her fine-boned face. She was beauty allied to a puzzle. Why did she hate machines, and computers in particular?
“What do you wish done with her?” Mata Hari asked.
He sighed. “Do you think she was aware of being a mule?”
“No.”
“Does she carry any other bioweapons?”
“No,” Mata Hari said in a soft, reassuring voice. “After isolating her room and pouching it out through the external ship skin, so it could be pinched off in case the probe awoke other bioweapons, I active-scanned her. There are no other bioweapons within or attached to her.”
Except for her mind, he thought, admiring Eliana’s strong intelligence and stoic courage in accepting a very dangerous assignment for her people. “Recommendations?”
“I am curious about human females,” Mata Hari said. “And she cannot harm me. Keep her. She is, after all, your only Patron.”
And also a woman—like you pretend to be . “So be it.”
Matt turned and laid back down on his bed, his mind far too active for sleep. Too many questions plagued him.
Who had seeded Eliana with a bioweapon?
Why did Mata Hari wish to keep a dangerous Patron, rather than toss her into the vacuum of space? Did she really want to observe a live human woman in action, thinking and doing as women do? As Helen did, his pain-memory reminded him. And when would Translation end?
Most of all, Matt wondered why his mind still recycled images of a seductively nude Eliana. The images aroused him. They brought forth hormonal responses that he barely repressed. Worst of all, they evoked erotic memories of Helen. Of the yellow-haired Asian woman he’d once loved, but who had left him. Left him alone with only the memory of her love.
Love .
Such could never be possible with Eliana.
He had realized after her departure from the Bridge what she must think of him. One machine now ravaged her planet. Another machine had made her a crossbreed, an outcast to both peoples. And after seeing him crouched within the Interlock pit, interwoven with the lifeweb of a machine intelligence, Matt must seem to Eliana the worst of all worlds.
A cyborg. Neither fully human, nor fully machine. An abomination, an atrocity—something that willingly bonded with an intelligent computer, that was not people . Through choice, a human machine allied to a computer machine--failing to see the:: group entity that was how they thought of themselves. Matt could deal with provincialism. But racism . . . .
To her, he must seem only a tool. One she would use, then discard. He was sure of that, even as his emotions hoped otherwise.
So be it.
Through all the lonely hours of Translation, Matt ignored forbidden memories. Ignored his long-suppressed hopes. Ignored even the prospect of meeting other humans, the pure-strain Greeks of Sigma Puppis. For years he had felt safest when apart from other humans. And Eliana was unlikely to change that, or change his Promise to Helen, the core reason why he’d chosen to be a Vigilante in the first place. Eliana was not the only one with secrets . . . .
CHAPTER THREE
Mata Hari the starship hung just outside Sigma Puppis binary star system, veiled within its Kuiper Belt of proto-cometary objects, and stealth-shielded against all detectors. After the two attacks and the bioweapon, the AI had insisted on such a cautious approach. Just as she now insisted on filling the forward holosphere with endless astronomical and historical readouts on Eliana’s home system. Once again Matt sat in the Interlock Pit, bare skin soaking in the cold of interstellar space, lightbeams
“What do you wish done with her?” Mata Hari asked.
He sighed. “Do you think she was aware of being a mule?”
“No.”
“Does she carry any other bioweapons?”
“No,” Mata Hari said in a soft, reassuring voice. “After isolating her room and pouching it out through the external ship skin, so it could be pinched off in case the probe awoke other bioweapons, I active-scanned her. There are no other bioweapons within or attached to her.”
Except for her mind, he thought, admiring Eliana’s strong intelligence and stoic courage in accepting a very dangerous assignment for her people. “Recommendations?”
“I am curious about human females,” Mata Hari said. “And she cannot harm me. Keep her. She is, after all, your only Patron.”
And also a woman—like you pretend to be . “So be it.”
Matt turned and laid back down on his bed, his mind far too active for sleep. Too many questions plagued him.
Who had seeded Eliana with a bioweapon?
Why did Mata Hari wish to keep a dangerous Patron, rather than toss her into the vacuum of space? Did she really want to observe a live human woman in action, thinking and doing as women do? As Helen did, his pain-memory reminded him. And when would Translation end?
Most of all, Matt wondered why his mind still recycled images of a seductively nude Eliana. The images aroused him. They brought forth hormonal responses that he barely repressed. Worst of all, they evoked erotic memories of Helen. Of the yellow-haired Asian woman he’d once loved, but who had left him. Left him alone with only the memory of her love.
Love .
Such could never be possible with Eliana.
He had realized after her departure from the Bridge what she must think of him. One machine now ravaged her planet. Another machine had made her a crossbreed, an outcast to both peoples. And after seeing him crouched within the Interlock pit, interwoven with the lifeweb of a machine intelligence, Matt must seem to Eliana the worst of all worlds.
A cyborg. Neither fully human, nor fully machine. An abomination, an atrocity—something that willingly bonded with an intelligent computer, that was not people . Through choice, a human machine allied to a computer machine--failing to see the
To her, he must seem only a tool. One she would use, then discard. He was sure of that, even as his emotions hoped otherwise.
So be it.
Through all the lonely hours of Translation, Matt ignored forbidden memories. Ignored his long-suppressed hopes. Ignored even the prospect of meeting other humans, the pure-strain Greeks of Sigma Puppis. For years he had felt safest when apart from other humans. And Eliana was unlikely to change that, or change his Promise to Helen, the core reason why he’d chosen to be a Vigilante in the first place. Eliana was not the only one with secrets . . . .
CHAPTER THREE
Mata Hari the starship hung just outside Sigma Puppis binary star system, veiled within its Kuiper Belt of proto-cometary objects, and stealth-shielded against all detectors. After the two attacks and the bioweapon, the AI had insisted on such a cautious approach. Just as she now insisted on filling the forward holosphere with endless astronomical and historical readouts on Eliana’s home system. Once again Matt sat in the Interlock Pit, bare skin soaking in the cold of interstellar space, lightbeams
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