Vigilante Series 2: Nebula Vigilante (16 page)

A life he would not call it. Not when its brain was subject to neurolink spasms that would fix a Work Equals No Pain engram within its deepest identity. It would expect to feel pain if it was not working. Whatever that work might be. The Master would define the work and the cloneslave would perform. Tilting the glass cylinder, he uncapped the sensor plate that had monitored the alien’s growth and mentation. Placental fluid ran out to disappear through slots that pierced the delivery bowl. Putting a dry towel onto the metal bowl, he laid the newborn infant onto the towel, squeezed its chest to expel fluid, and waited for the gasp and squall of birth awareness. Blinking wetness from his eyes, Matt knew that his cushioning of the newborn fetus with the towel was the last kindness it would know. Biting his lip, he renewed again his vow to
escape the job of being a cloneslave decanter and to move up in the work castes of the Anarchate. Perhaps to something with some chance of personal choice. Like being a Protector of an alien owner.

The Spelidon baby squalled its first breath. Its forearms reached out for a hug.

Matt turned away, moving down the line of cloneslave fetus tubes, each in a small vat, preparing to decant another life into slavery. Any effort to comfort the tiny creature would only bring another lash from the supervisor’s neurowhip. And he had learned that mental pain from a neurowhip was far more intense than simple physical pain. Sighing, he looked away from the squalling Spelidon and focused on the next tube.

It was a job. Just a job.

“Nooooo!” Eliana wailed inside herself.

Blinking her eyes open, she reached out, lifted the memory circlet from her head and pulled the
memory block from its slot. Her mouth felt dry. Her eyes were too wet. Her mind was filled with firsthand knowledge of an Anarchate horror she had only read about. As something that only happened rarely, to those sapients who violated an Anarchate Rule. She knew better now. She knew it happened whenever some rich sapient wanted a life Servant or an organic play toy. She knew, now, it was a routine part of living in the Anarchate. Eliana looked aside.

Matthew still sat below deck level in the Interlock Pit, only his head showing above its laser flashing depths. The fiber optical neurolink cable was attached to Matt’s neck, just below his skull. So. He was still in
ocean-time
, communing with Mata Hari and feeling this starship like a suit of clothes.

Now she understood why taking an alien AI as a mind partner was a minor bother compared to being a cloneslave decanter. How it was far down the list of bothersome things that Matt had experienced in his life. She had thought, as a molecular geneticist who sometimes
saw the sad results of an uncorrected hereditary disease, such as Tay Sachs Syndrome or Downs Syndrome, that she had seen the harsh side of life.

She had not. Thinking again of why she loved Matthew, she gave thanks again that her people, the Greeks and the
Derindl, lived not under the heel of the Halicene Conglomerate. She suspected that any survivors of their eco-destruction of her planet would have been taken off planet only upon signing a bondServant contract, or worse. As for the children of such refugees . . .

Eliana shuddered, put the
memory block into a storage alcove of her accel-couch, and got up to go see Sarah, Suzanne, Knut, anyone who was a fellow human like her. Not someone of the Anarchate. Not an Owner of lives.

George
O’Hussey looked away from the wallscreen vidcast that said they were diverting from landing at Morrigan in order to rescue humans kidnapped by a genome harvester starship and met the green gaze of Suzanne.

“
Milady, I want to help the Vigilante free these people. He needs a battle companion, someone to help in the human way, beyond what his combat suit can do for him,” he said.

His newfound love reached up to her blond curls, twisted a few
around a finger, showed a grim expression, then nodded. “I understand, George my love. You Irish have always been the romantic warriors who hear the call to freedom and honor.” She smiled. “Or so I learned those times on Omega when you talked about how the O’Hussey line of Fermanagh were warrior poets respected in this Earth land you call Ireland, or Eire. I thought it exciting at the time.” She bit her pink lip. “Now, I worry for you. After all the violence we have seen while being aboard this alien starship, I worry that the love of my heart may not come home to me.”

George stepped to her and held her warmness close to his chest, cherishing the feel of her embroidered dress, the apple smell of her hair, the smoothness of her cheek. It
felt right. It was the closeness he’d needed in all the long years he’d worked for an alien Owner as the Repair manager. And like Suzanne, he too feared losing her. But people descended from the
Tuatha De Danann
had always understood the pathway of honor. And courage. He cupped Suzanne’s freckled chin and looked deeply into her green eyes.

“My love, I will come back. In one piece. With as many of the kidnapped people as we can find.”

Suzanne half-smiled, then gestured with her head toward the wallscreen at their side. “But this Mata Hari AI says no complaints or inquiries will be accepted. They are preparing for battle in ten hours or less. How do you get this Matthew’s attention?”

George had worried the same thing. But seeing the
embroidered spring dress of his love gave him an idea. “Sarah. Sarah Vasiliades can always get the attention of Matt’s lifepartner Eliana. If I can convince her I am serious, she will put me in touch with the Vigilante.”

Suzanne nodded, then slowly stepped out of his embrace. “Then go, dearest George, before I use my IT wiles to seal the slidedoor!”

He smiled at her, hearing her jest and hearing also her heartache. George turned, tapped the exit patch, and stepped out into the Spine hallway. He turned and headed for the roomsuite of Sarah Vasiliades. Being Greek, she would understand the call of honor. She would help. Or so help the Great Goddess, he would . . .

Sarah looked up at the buzz of the slidedoor’s admit intercom. She motioned to Gatekeeper the AI to stay on the far side of the table where they had been calculating likely costs for settlement housing, food, transport, the cost of a common dormitory versus solo apartments, and a million other details related to helping all her people. Her fellow humans. Most of whom needed a job and all of whom needed to feel safe from the roaming violence of life within the Anarchate.

“Gatekeeper, I’ll get it and send whomever away. Then we can head for the commissary to discuss these issues with everyone who worries about our settlement. Okay?”

“Of course, milady Sarah,” it said in a warm bass tone, the status lights twinkling in a pattern she knew indicated its amusement at the human need to separate tasks versus its choice of
assigning mindsegments to match multiple tasks.

She tapped the admit patch. The slidedoor opened. George
O’Hussey stood there in his Repairs jumpsuit, hands clasped behind his back and a determined look on his flushed face. “George, something wrong?”

Nope,” he said
lightly, but keeping the serious look. “I came to ask your help in contacting this Mata Hari AI so I can offer my combat aid to Matt Dragoneaux the Vigilante. When he goes to rescue the kidnapped people of Morrigan. A second gun and an extra pair of eyes are always useful. And I used lasers in my work. I won’t get in his way.”

George’s offer surprised her, especially in view of his and Suzanne’s announcement of being a Committed couple. But she knew his determination to do a job
right
from the time she had first encountered him seven years ago, not long after his arrival. While stubborn, he got any job done right the first time. And made sure his workers, alien or human, did the same. And George had always been focused on personal honor. Like Matthew.

“Well, come in George so we can discuss this.” She turned away and headed for the cushion chair opposite the two meter globe of Gatekeeper. “You know Gatekeeper. He was helping me figure out the types of supplies and options we will need to pursue once we land on Morrigan.”

“Gatekeeper, good to see you,” George said firmly, then stood to her side and looked down at her. “Will you call this Mata Hari into holo appearance here? So I can make my case?”

“George, of course I will help you as best I can. But are you and Suzanne certain this choice is right . . . for the two of you?”

He nodded stiffly. “She understands my heritage. My family may trace back to South Boston on old Earth, but our heritage is based in the land of Eire. And we follow the traditions that descend from our Celtic ancestors. Fighting for the right has always been the way of honor for them, and now for me. This cloneslavery thing is an abomination. I want to help save the captives from that evil.”

Sarah thought of her own family’s Greek heritage and how a long ago ancestor had fought in Greece’s war of independence against the ancient Ottoman Empire
, before Earth’s first world war. Her parents and grandparents had kept this ancestor’s black and white flat image in a place of honor on the fireplace mantle. And had taken it to the dinner table when Greece’s independence day was celebrated once a year. No matter that their colony was a Second Wave one located forty-six light years away from Earth. Tradition and memory were what mattered. She sighed.

“Then I will—
”

The slidedoor admit buzzer sounded a second time. George looked startled, then looked questioningly at her. “Shall I allow whomever it is to come in?”

“Yes. We can send them away quickly enough once they see we are in conference. Thank you.”

George touched the admit patch, then stepped back as Eliana Themistocles looked at them from the Spine hallway.

“Leader Sarah, I need to talk to you about . . . about our upcoming rescue of the kidnapped humans and our later arrival at Morrigan. But . . . you seem busy so perhaps we can meet later in the commissary?”

Sarah liked it when serendipity brought her a solution to one of her problems. “No! Uh, I mean, Eliana please, do come inside.” The molecular geneticist and fellow
Greek looked startled, then stepped into Sarah’s front room. “You know everyone here. George. And Gatekeeper. Gatekeeper was helping me with colonizing plans when George arrived moments ago with a special request for me. But with you here, perhaps he should redirect his request to you.”

Eliana, dressed in an embroidered peasant dress she had bought from
Rebecca, smiled briefly, then turned to George.

“Yes, George? You have need of some help?”

“Mistress Eliana, that I do.” George described his wish to help Matt in his combat efforts, his own knowledge of lasers, and why his Irish heritage compelled him to choose the pathway of honor. “So, I really have no choice. Perhaps, like your Matthew had no choice but that of Vigilante after his lover and family were killed by the Anarchate.”

Eliana’s expression turned dark. Darker than
Sarah had ever seen on the white face of the albino woman, a woman who seemed to always be smiling. But not now. Her eyes looked aside, as if remembering something. She refocused on George.

“Choices that are bound by honor
are something that I understand . . . better now. Matt shared some personal experiences with me. They were not pleasant.” Eliana’s expression turned grim. “So, of course I will help. Sarah, is there room here for Mata Hari to materialize?”

Sarah nodded, then gestured to George to move away from the
hallway entry and instead stand by the bedroom entry. Eliana looked up at the ceiling, then half-smiled as if recalling how the ship’s AI had sensors placed everywhere.”

“Mata Hari, Urgent Code delta fourteen zee. Please appear next to my physical location. I have need to talk to your real self, not one of your secondary linkages.”

“Arriving,” said Mata Hari’s normal brisk voice as a life-size holo took shape.

Sarah blinked. Mata Hari was dressed far differently than her Mata Hari spy image of
a black-haired young woman wearing a white, floor length chiffon and lace dress with long sleeves and a low-cut bodice, with a large cameo at her throat. This time she appeared in silvery chain-mail that ran from neck to waist, a bronze studded leather skirt, and a Turkish-style steel saber in one hand. Her black eyes swept the room with a look Sarah had only seen in the eyes of Matthew Dragoneaux, and in the picture of her Greek independence ancestor. They were eyes that said “I give no quarter.” She bowed slightly to Mata Hari the warrior woman.

“Mata Hari, I’m sorry to disturb yours and Matt’s preparations. But one of our group, George here, has volunteered to be a combat companion to Matthew during the rescue of the kidnapped humans,” Sara said succinctly. “He wishes to see Matt about this offer.”

Mata Hari moved slightly to inspect George, her sword lowering to parallel her left leg. She looked George eye-to-eye. “Are you serious? And what besides muscle can you offer to assist Matthew?”

“I’m serious,” George said in his
deep baritone voice. “As for my muscles, they reflect dozens of hours doing vacuum labor on jobs outside the casino dome. I used hand lasers to dig mounting holes for the port defense lasers, the struts for the Tachyon Pylon, and . . . small holes for the guests of Owners who chose to play a low gee in vacuum version of an ancient game called golf.”