Chapter 6

Gyre buried his face against the warmth of hair, smelling the delicious after-scent of sex: Salt and sweat and sweetness, all mixed together. He could hear the distant sounds of waves, the murmur of conversation, the rattling of wooden wheels on cobblestone streets, and through it all, a voice speaking just behind him and to the right.

“The layers of your memory system are distributed and deeply buried – after all, the rest of your body could cease to function and you’d live on if the consciousness that is you, Gyre, continued to be run on the automation systems within your bones, your belly, your fucking balls.” There was a soft laugh. “But the outer levels of the memory are the most easily lost when struck by the level of electromagnetic pulse-damage that you were. So, do not be too upset that it’s all so fragmentary.”

Gyre eyes opened and he turned in the large, silken sheet-covered bed. There was no one behind him, and a name tingled on the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth and it came out.

“Thuf!” he said.

“Hmmphm?” the sky blue shark-girl alien who was currently half-tangled up in three quarters of the silken sheets beside Gyre mumbled. She opened one eye and then rolled away from him, so that she stole the last quarter of the sheets. If Gyre wasn’t pretty sure that he could handle colds far worse than the faint breeze coming through the window, he might have stolen some of those sheets back. As it was, he sat up and laughed to himself.

“Science Officer Thufkwan,” he said. “He was a Grindi from Alpha Ceti, and he was my science officer.”

Chinsara rolled around so that she was laying on her back. Her tail slapped against his thigh and her tooth smile filled her features, her eyes narrow despite that – narrow from fatigue and sleepiness, he could tell. “And this means what, exactly?” she asked, her voice only faintly groggy.

“I might be remembering something about how I got here,” Gyre said. He felt no new branching of memories, no new unfolding nuggets of information. But rather than get bent out of shape about that, he instead decided to focus on the good. And the good included Chinsara, sprawled beside him – and she had somehow contrived to be tangled up in her sheets in a way that left her belly, her thighs, her arms exposed, making her look like a partially unwrapped gift. Gyre felt a faint discomfort in his belly, thinking of her like a gift. After all, she was a person. But she had been ordered here by the queen...

Which mattered a whole hell of a lot when you were plowing her last night, eh? He thought to himself. Gyre lifted his shoulders, rolled his head, then smiled down at her.

“Y-You do know, you don’t need to do anything for me, right? I don’t need a bed warmer provided to me by the state.”

Chinsara laughed. “State?” she asked, her brow furrowing.

“You know, the Kingdom and your Queen?” Gyre asked.

Chinsara laughed again, shaking her head. She sat up, and the silken cloth slid along her sleek skin, puddling in her lap. “You think I have to follow orders, like I was a slave?” She shook her head. “You use the word state – no, that’s not the right word.” Gyre’s translation program chiruped and started to take notes. Which meant he started to get a headache. Gyre subtly clenched his jaw, listening as Chinsara continued: “Queen’s Crown is under the direct stewardship of Queen Ruthara. She has indirect stewardship over the whole island, which are bonded via interchanged debt. Services rendered for services for services, with caste lines respected.”

Gyre clicked his teeth. “So, the Queen owes you for...” He gestured between them.

Chinsara laughed. “Yes, this kind of act can be traded on for better goods, maybe a small house, but I’m eyeing for a husband or two.” She reached up and her graceful arms began to tie her hair back. She used some small pins to work it into a sleek ponytail. Gyre found himself unable to look away from the graceful movement of her fingers as she braided her electric blue hair. “But she didn’t order it – I have no debt to her worth this kind of act. She just suggested it, floated some future returns in this debt, and it struck me as a great deal of fun. Not every day one gets to earn utang.”

That last word rang in Gyre’s ears oddly as his translation program finished. It was ... familiar...

Utang.

A word from ... his...

Homeworld!

Like a bolt of lightning, Tuggatharta Buwaya knew his earliest memories on the world of Drowned. He remembered poling through the reeds, listening to the lilting conlang of his grandfather – an artificial attempt to reproduce one of the extinct tongues of the equally extinct Philippine islands, interspersed with Tagalog that the rest of the colony used. He remembered looking up at the cracked ringworld that was Drowned reason for being – the glittering bauble that had drawn Terran colonists fifty six light years at sublight speeds, hoping to find a wonder and instead finding a testament to failure. He remembered the dreams of leaving Drowned, of becoming...

Gyre.

CNS The Widening Gyre, a starship and a member of the Starship Corps. But he’d never forgotten Drowned, or his home, or his grandfather until ... until ... and there, the ragged edges of his memory refused to coalesce together. He remembered being assigned to ... where? And then he remembered waking up in Tulon’s presence. But between there was still nothing. And...

“My crew!” he said. “I need my crew!”

“That will take a lot of utang,” Chinsara said, chuckling. “And, of course, a ship. Which takes even more utang. And, I mean, you are a good lover, but you are not that good, Gyre.”

Gyre shook his head. “No, no, I...” And he realized, he had no idea how he could even begin to describe what he was talking about to Chinsara. To Chinsara, the most sophisticated social structure was the mandala of her Queen, the interlocking networks of trade, vendetta and debt shared between villages, the castes within those villages, and islands beyond the islands. To Chinsara, the most advanced technology was steel, gunpowder flintlocks, and the latine sail. How the hell was he supposed to explain computronium? Digitized sophonts? Hell, how was he going to explain basic automation, the most sophisticated computer Chinsara had ever seen in her whole short life was an abacus.

“Yes?” Chinsara asked.

“I ... uh...” Gyre frowned. “My crew aren’t like your crew – and I can’t get any ... new ... ones here...” He trailed off. His memories fuzzed out before he knew how he had gotten here. But they didn’t blank out on his crew. There was Sara, his ops officer. Thuf, his science officer. Galti, his tactical officer. Chase Bank, his navigation officer. They were ... all ... gone. The only thing that could kill his crew would be repeated hammering of EMP, hard enough and fast enough that it would burn our their memory cores and disrupt their consciousness into incoherence. There was a chance – a slim one – that he could find echoes of them in his memory ... but...

They were gone.

Gyre laughed. “Okay,” he said. “Sara is going to be pissed.”

“Huh?” Chinsara cocked her head. “Who is Sara? ... have you remembered a lover?”

“No! Well. Yes.” Gyre laughed, blushing. “Don’t worry, she’s not a jealous type. She’s just going to be upset she lost a few weeks. And she’s going to be mad as hell that I fucked up first contact this bad.” He leaned in close, whispering in her ear. “You’re not supposed to lay the aliens you meet, even if they are beautiful.”

Chinsara laughed. “Beautiful, hmm? And yet, you only tell me that after you reveal that you have another lover.” She furrowed her brow. “But how can you lose a few weeks?”

Oh, simple: She’s a digitized consciousness running in my computer banks, and it’s the standard procedure to backup your crew before going into a hot situation, and all I have to do is get back to HQ and they can spin them up again in my computer architecture, he thought. Then his hand paused, went to his chin. He considered. It was entirely possible his crew was already spun up again – they’d be interrogated about the possibilities of where he might have gone, asked about him.

... or if they thought he was dead...

He shoved that idea away from the front of his mind. Instead, he stood and stretched. “I’m a ship – like the ships in the harbor. Just cuter.” He flashed her a smile. “And I need a crew that lives in my mind.” He tapped the side of his head with his finger, hull-material tinking off hull-material. Chinsara shook her head slowly.

“Sounds weird,” she said, then slid from the bed, naked as he was. She stepped over, then leaned against his side. Her voice was warm in his ear. “If you’re a ship, why do you have such an amazing sex-body?”

“Well, uh-” he squirmed as her teal finger slid along the tip of his cock, moving up to his base, caressing him gently. “We get cranky without our cocks. There was a whole study on it.”

“Oh, the made ships without?” she asked, her voice playful. Her fingers moved and Gyre found his body was more than willing to react. His cock hardened, filled her palm. She crooned softly. “That does ... seem ... like a shame.” Her palm began to gently work him, her breasts pressing against the sleekness of his back. Her lips kissed to the curve of his neck, and her sharp teeth rasped against his hull-material, sending electric shivers along his spine. His cock twitched, growing even firmer as she slid her palm up and down, up and down, up and down.

“T-The first ships like me were rectangular boxes about half my size,” Gyre said, gesturing to indicate the size. “With weapon apertures every few inches and missile banks strapped to the sides.” He gasped as she tightened her grip.

“You’re fooling with me!” Chinsara laughed.

“No ... no, being quite ... f-fuck! Quite serious!” His eyes closed and he shuddered, his eyes closing tightly as he clenched his hands, trying to keep himself from exploding. The feeling of her silken hand on his cock was quite exquisite, and Chinsara was throwing herself into the act. Her hand blurred as she moved faster and faster, her breath catching as she whispered in his ear.

“Why’d they change you from-” she giggled. “-terrible boxes?”

“We ... went crazy!” He gasped out, his back arching. His seed sparkled as it splattered to the floor, glittering on the tile as she worked him, eased another spurt or two from him as he whispered, under his breath. “F-Fuck. Fuck. Oh fuck...” His eyes closed and he panted quietly. “Fuck.”

Chinsara stepped away. She darted her tongue along one finger, then smiled at him – but it was a gentle, curious smile. “I ... suppose I can see that. I’m trying to imagine being turned into a box – like I got hit by a curse.” She bit her lower lip. “I wouldn’t want to be stuck as a box for long.”

Gyre panted. The reflex was deeply ingrained, deeper than most of his programming. He closed his eyes, then laughed. “The first starships had to be yanked from their boxes. It was a shame too – a rectangle stuffed full of gadgets and gizmos can be the most deadly, effective ship you can imagine. They had to work out how to give us arms, legs, sensation, gender...” He smiled, wryly. “It turns out, if you take a Terran mind and put it into a body that doesn’t match what they think of as ‘themselves’, that mind gets depressive.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone.

“Well, when you say it like that,” Chinsara said, kneeling and beginning to wipe up the mess she had made with him. “So, why do you need a crew if you are all a ship by yourself?”

Gyre knelt next to her, to start helping, but she put her finger on his nose, pushing against him. Gyre allowed himself to be bumped backwards, since otherwise, it was more likely that Chinsara would send herself skidding away along the smooth floor than budge him. “This is my job,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

Gyre sat back on his rump and sighed. “Well, because there’s a lot of complicated things that you can’t trust to...” How to explain artificial intelligence. “ ... that you need people to do.”

Chinsara nodded, folding her rag up. She narrowed her eyes at him. “And they all fit in your head?”

“Yes,” Gyre said.

Chinsara’s smile was slow, infectious. “So ... you’re ... admitting you’ve got a big head?”

Gyre snorted.

Yetna watched as the women in the Queen’s colors carried the supplies onto the largest mongrel ship she had ever seen. It was a two hulled craft, with a tarpaulin stretched between the hulls, and several triangular sails, each of them currently reefed and lashed down against the tall masts. Those masts were ringed with crouches for when women with bows could perch and fire down on enemies. It was approximately half as tall as one of the top of the line Imperial ships, and looked as if it would be on par for speed. The crew space was significantly smaller, and she lacked any sign of cannon or chasers. Instead, her crew were primarily made up of the kind of sleek, strapping women that all had signs of being divers.

The divers did pause, every time they walked past, to glance at her.

“Still fettered,” Yetna said, lifting her wrists to show them to chain wrapped around her wrists. She was, at least, in shade, near the rippling dampness of the harbor itself. The moisture of the water sank into her skin and she was able to get at least moderately comfortable leaning against the mooring point that she had been dumped by.

The divers kept walking, muttering to one another as they loaded on stores and munitions. Some were of a type that Yetna had never seen before. She wondered at them as Tulon walked towards her, twirling a knife in her hand.

“Yetna,” she said, then opened her mouth – stopping as Yetna lifted her wrists.

“Still fettered,” she said.

“Good,” Tulon said. She pulled a sleek telescope from her hip pouch, unfurling it and aiming it out at the horizon.

“Is that one of Imperial make?” Yetna asked.

“Sure is,” Tulon said. Her grief and her anger didn’t seem to be as ‘on the surface’ now as they had been. She spoke with casual, eager confidence, her stance wide, her eyes scanning the horizon with steady motions as she lowered her telescope. “There’s been some successful raids by the Chevaliers.”

Yetna made a face. She felt a twinge of guilt at her decision to turn against the Empire – while she might have not wanted to stay in that cell, rotting for the rest of her life, the idea of cheering on these women as they scrambled onto Imperial ships and slit the throats of her former comrades was ... it stuck in her gullet. Tulon looked down at her, then knelt down.

“I know how you’re feeling,” she said.

“Oh, you’ve turned traitor?” Yetna asked.

“No, but I’m also not a fool,” Tulon said, quietly, shaking her head. “You’ve got to hate this – and I know. But think of it like this: If we don’t stop your Empress, then she’ll rule all the islands. Then what will those Stasi be doing, hm? They’ll just be watching people like us, huh?”

Yetna sighed. “Yeah. And...” She groped for words. “Some of the things the Empire does? It’s wrong. Not just conquest – we’ve all seen blood shed on these lands, even before the Empress, but ... making eunuchs like she does?” She shook her head. “It’s not just like the old way, where rapists and criminals get turned into eunuchs. Any man that she wants to make into a eunuch gets ... turned.” She gulped, while Tulon’s face locked down, turning to a steel mask.

“Yeah. Well.” She stood, then turned back to the horizon, pressing her eyes to her Imperial scope. Then she stopped. “Ah shit.”

“What?” Yetna asked.

Tulon handed her the scope, caught herself, then knelt down and held the telescope up. Yetna leaned forward and peered through the scope, grumbling as her butt scraped along the stone dock. The view through the scope was crystal clear, as much as she wished it wouldn’t be. Masts rose above the horizon, flying the Imperial flag. She soon saw the decks of the ships. Six of them in total, all with a glorious spread of sail. The scope was taken away and Tulon stood.

“I have to go tell the Queen.”

“Wait, take me with you!” Yetna said, hurriedly. “I know the ships!”

Tulon hesitated.

But not for long.

The chains slipped off Yetna’s wrists and she was hauled to her feet – and the two women rushed through the Queen’s Crown, taking the steps between each of the terraces in the city three at a time. By the time they reached the palace, their lungs were burning and their hearts were pounding. Through sheer, dogged determination, Yetna refused to show any sign of exhaustion, breathing steadily and slowly through her lips and her nose while Tulon did likewise. The two women entered into the audience chamber of the Queen herself, and Tulon cut in over the sound of masculine voices – Yetna counted four distinct swarms floating in the air around the throne.

“My queen, there’s a fleet of six first rates coming towards the Harbor. I think the Empress knows we have Gyre.”

“How could they possibly have that information?” a male voice spoke.

“I have no idea,” Tulon said. “But why else would they risk bleeding themselves against the fortress?” She thrust her finger back over her shoulder. “We have enough cannons and hard stone to make those first rates sit up and take notice. Right?”

Yetna huffed. “Well. I haven’t gotten a good look at your fortress-”

“And you won’t!” a male voice said – different from the first.

“General Kars,” Queen Ruthara said, lifting her hand up, stilling him. “Captain Yetna has offered her services that might bring us just as much treasure and hope for the future as CNS The Widening Gyre...” She spoke the alien name with careful, elegant diction. “While we cannot trust her with specific details of the inner workings of the fortress, I doubt telling her our poundage, wall thickness, and the like can be of any use to the Empire ... if they attack us, they’ll learn each by their own observations.”

General Kars shrank in on himself, then flickered in male annoyance. “Very well ... Yetna, know this, the fortress has walls two feet thick of brick, sloped to cause cannon shot to reflect off. We have twenty six twelve pound guns in total along the two flanks, and twelve twenty four pounders, with three howitzers that are all forty two pound guns, loaded with male-infused shots. The men ride the ball up, then work a device within that cause the shot to break apart and drop the payload over a large area, then they fly back to the cannon.”