Maybe his future isn’t out among the stars. Maybe it could be right here.
Darius Akide’s offices are ventilated with natural breezes and illuminated primarily by sunlight. The economy of it is something Abel expected; the beauty of it surprises him.
When he says as much, Akide shakes his head. “That’s one of the differences between mechs and humans. Where you see efficiency, we’re capable of seeing something more.”
Abel takes no offense. As he knows from his initial journey with Noemi, humans require time to fully accept him. “Upon consideration, it makes sense. Even in pure mathematics, the equations that appear ‘beautiful’ are most likely to be true. Beauty is not only a perception; it’s also an indication of simplicity and strength.”
That makes Akide blink, but he says nothing. His eyes narrow as he studies Abel from behind his desk. This allows Abel to study Akide in return. The images of this man in his memory banks are of him in his early twenties, when he was Burton Mansfield’s protégé and friend. One holo showed Akide holding Gillian when she was only four months old. Some of Darius Akide’s theories are woven into Abel’s deepest programming and structures. Perhaps he should feel reverence, meeting someone who is in effect his co-creator.
He does not. Mansfield reserved that reverence—the devotion dictated by Directive One—for himself.
So Abel sees an ordinary human male in late middle age, of African descent and average height (impossible to gauge precisely while the man is sitting). Akide shows signs of recent illness: bloodshot eyes, ashy skin, and slowed reaction time. Yet he has resumed his post, helping to lead a planet in great peril. This is a sign of either great fortitude or great egocentricity.
“According to Vidal’s report, Gilly managed to store her son’s consciousness and transplant it into another mech.” Akide steeples his hands. “One with even more organic components than you have yourself.”
“The transfer wasn’t entirely successful, but it’s impossible to say whether the process is fundamentally flawed, or whether failure was due to premature execution.” He then deliberately uses the same nickname Akide did. This is a connection they share. “Gilly certainly believes herself to have copies of both her son’s consciousness and her father’s. Had she been able to capture me, she would have attempted to transfer Mansfield’s into my body. Given that I am both intact and functioning excellently, complete transfer might well have succeeded.”
Akide shakes his head. “Thank God the Osiris crashed. Their work could’ve proved monstrous. At least it’s been destroyed.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain. They had extensive plans to expand their work on Haven. The so-called Winter Castle may very well have mech labs she’ll be able to use to further her research.” Abel finds the idea of organic mechs highly interesting—something he’d like to investigate himself, for his own purposes—but senses this is unlikely to be a feeling Akide shares.
“Any data you can provide on these plans will be welcome,” Akide says, as if inputting a command into a basic computer. “Visual images, if you can re-create them. I’ll want to research this in much more depth once we’ve made it through this crisis.”
The Vagabond fleet remains assembled above. It has been less than three days since Earth learned of that fleet’s existence and its journey to the Genesis system—and since the galaxy learned of Earth’s deception. Given the amount of time necessary for bureaucratic decision-making and military mobilization, Abel puts the likelihood of a major military operation within the next two days at 81.8 percent.
However, unlike humans, he can be aware of impending danger yet continue to focus on other subjects. “I wished to ask—will any of those who have come to defend Genesis be allowed to remain here?”
Akide nods absently. “The Council has had a preliminary talk. Some form of citizenship for the Vagabonds fighting for us… that may be appropriate. Of course they would have to follow our core philosophies, and we’ll come up with forms for citizenship, but I imagine most of them will consider that a fair trade for a true home.”
Harriet and Zayan might be able to have a place to call their own. Ephraim might choose to open a clinic here. Virginia—no, Virginia is happy on Cray and will certainly return. But even Abel’s selflessness functions can’t outweigh one core thought: He can stay with Noemi. “I would wish to apply.”
“You?” Akide sits upright, startled back into the present. The surprise on his face slowly shifts into disdain. “You are… a piece of machinery. One built to serve humans, and a kind of machine we have no use for here on Genesis. Mechs are forbidden here, for good reason. Vidal may be caught up in her fanciful notions about your ‘soul,’ but no one else is likely to make the same mistake. I’m sure when you process this through your programming, it will make sense to you.”
Abel is still not accepted. He is still less than. Genesis cannot be his home.
Later that night, when Noemi joins him aboard the Persephone, her outrage eclipses his hurt. “Akide said that to you? After what you’ve done for this entire planet? It’s so—ungrateful, so mean—”
“It is a logical extension of his worldview,” Abel says. “It’s not a tragedy, Noemi. I will resume the existence I had before, as a Vagabond. It’s a way of life I enjoy. Granted, if Harriet and Zayan stay here, I’ll have to hire a new crew, but I’m confident other good people can be found.” So many Vagabonds need homes, and as his friends have told him many times, he pays well.
Noemi stands on the other side of the bridge, suddenly awkward. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, then says, “So—you’re hiring?”
Fresh hope floods Abel’s mental processes as powerfully as excess voltage. It’s a state of mind he’s rarely experienced to such a degree. Not
