“Couldn’t we just, you know, interface via comms?” Virginia seems uncomfortable not relying on technology. “Everybody has to be in the same room?”
Harriet nods firmly. “Comms can be hacked. Voice messages can be faked. Back in the early days, Vagabonds sometimes had it rough telling the true from the false. Person-to-person talk, though—that you can prove. No Vagabond would negotiate something this important any other way.”
With a shrug, Virginia says, “I guess if we run into trouble, we’ve got the galaxy’s most badass mech here to help us out.”
Abel freezes, but his friends don’t catch it right away. “What trouble?” Harriet folds her arms. “You think all Vagabonds are criminals, don’t you? Just like you pampered prats on Cray—”
“Hey,” Noemi interjects. “Could we not have all the planets fighting among themselves here on our own bridge? Earth sets us all up not to trust one another. We have to do better than that.”
The others nod, but Zayan’s expression has become confused. “Wait a second. We have a mech to help us out? Where?”
Virginia claps one hand over her mouth. Ephraim, who doesn’t understand as much of the context, simply points at Abel. Both Harriet’s and Zayan’s eyes go wide. The secret Abel’s kept so long is out.
“I ought to have told you long ago,” he says. “I’m a special prototype of the late Burton Mansfield, with capabilities and intelligence beyond that of any other mech currently in production.” Once he would’ve said in existence, but Gillian’s further experiments make him wonder.
Zayan stares. “You’re a mech? You?”
After a long moment, Harriet laughs. “You’re putting us on, right?”
“He’s telling the truth.” Noemi, at Abel’s side, puts one hand on his arm. “It doesn’t make him any less a person than you or me.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Zayan says, then shakes his head. “You can’t be a mech. You don’t act like one—except for the thing where you’re really good at equations in your head, and being really strong, and oh my God you’re a mech.”
“Mechs with full personhood remain rare,” Abel explains. “I’m almost certainly unique at this time, though I expect others to follow. If it takes you some time to adjust to this, I fully understand—but I hope you’ll both remain crew members and friends.”
Zayan and Harriet share a bewildered look, one that lasts long enough for Abel to wonder whether they’ll abandon ship at their next opportunity. Slowly, however, Harriet begins to nod. “You’re a good captain. That’s the main thing. We’ll figure out the rest.”
“We’re still on board,” Zayan promises. He doesn’t hold out his hand to shake; instead, he gets back to work, the best proof he could offer that the two of them intend to stay with the Persephone—and to learn to understand just what and who Abel really is.
Docking keeps most of them occupied during the next 4.9 minutes. As Zayan brings the ship toward the Katara’s massive bay, Abel’s sharp ears cannot help picking up the quiet conversation between Ephraim and Noemi, when she tells him what became of Riko Watanabe.
“It didn’t have to end like that,” he whispers, more to himself than to Noemi. “I tried to tell her there were other ways to fight. Other ways to live. She wouldn’t listen. No—that’s not right. Riko listened, but she couldn’t hear me, not really.”
This would be a natural segue for Noemi to mention Riko’s doubts at the very end of her life. But she doesn’t. She says only, “She wasn’t in pain for long, and she died bravely.”
From what Abel can see via his peripheral vision, this information comforts Ephraim. Learning of Riko’s doubts would probably have had the opposite effect. Is Noemi’s omission kindness or dishonesty? The two are not as different as Abel has often assumed.
The Katara is shaped much like its namesake, an ancient push-dagger of South Asia: a long, pointed prow in front of a squared-off stern. Its decoration is modest for a Vagabond ship, with only a few black and brown stripes painted along the sides of its dark gold hull. Its grandeur is in its scale, which becomes even more apparent when they enter its docking bay. This space alone is larger than the average spacedock on a planet, much less anything Abel would have anticipated within another ship.
The meeting room isn’t much smaller. It appears to be a cargo hold, one with a catwalk high above the floor. While the majority of the attendees crowd in down below, a handful of individuals have taken their place above. These will be the ones most interested in asserting power. Abel, Noemi, and Ephraim exchange glances before climbing the ladder, claiming their own positions of authority.
Body language alone tells Abel who the captain is, but they walk up to her for introductions anyway: female-presenting, of Northern European ancestry, with a weak chin, shoulder-length blond hair, and exceptionally wide-set green eyes. She seems to recognize them as well, or at least their right to present themselves to her.
“Dagmar Krall,” she says. “Captain of the Katara, leader of the Krall Consortium. And… your host.”
“Any Vagabond knows of Dagmar Krall,” Abel replies, an answer crafted to sound more complimentary than it actually is. He respects this woman’s intelligence, but remains aware of her potential viciousness. “I am Abel, captain of the Persephone, and this is Noemi Vidal, a soldier of Genesis and the person most responsible for calling us together.”
Krall nods, gesturing for a sound module. Noemi leans closer to Abel. “What do you mean, ‘most responsible’? You called Ephraim and Remedy. Harriet and Zayan called the Vagabonds—I was either trapped in a force field or in a shipwreck the
