Chapter 2

Hex, again:

Romy blossomed. I’d thought she was ‘human’ even after I learned her true nature, but when she took on flesh, became ... mortal, and joined Anya’s and my marriage, it’s hard to express, but she somehow radiated ... joy. That’s the best word I can find.

Periods. She, Romy that is, as well as Andromeda, was fascinated. She had two before she ‘caught’. I’d thought she was radiant after we married, but once she was pregnant she positively glowed. Not to mention, how to put it? Her sex-drive, always high, reached unbelievable levels. Anya and I had fun seeing how long we could keep her in orgasm, double teaming her until she lost consciousness. Let me tell you, that’s no mean feat.

It was shortly after her pregnancy was confirmed that we got the message we were anticipating. The UFP Council had finally agreed that Andromeda did not conform to the expectations of the Federation constitution. Frankly, I could not give a damn for their expectations. The Ambassador was formally recalled to Terra, and our Ambassador dismissed. That part, at least, conformed to interplanetary protocols. He duly transported himself and remaining Andromedan staff back home, leaving the Embassy as secure as it could be inside a force-field. Power, from a small fusion generator, should be good for a couple of decades. By the time it ran down we’d either have no need of the property, or we could return and upgrade it. Taki Sumimoto declined to return to Earth and applied for citizenship. His formal resignation was carried on the final courier trip.

Commander Whitfield took the Gamma Ten back to Terra, with a few passengers who preferred not to submit themselves to the matter transmitter. Scott Ross had already made clear his desire to remain as a citizen of Andromeda, as had Gladys, formerly Everest. We were instructed to return the Beta Twelve to Terra, which we did by auto-pilot, rather than risking a human. That left Betty, my old Sprinter, Alpha ten, as our only fold-space ship, but that was no great hardship in view of the hyper-space ships stored on the planet which Scott and Gladys had already qualified to pilot. Of course, by this point, Gladys was on the Mummy track, one toddler already and another on the way.

The first issue we faced was the supply of barley for the brewery. Barley, wheat and oats were being cultivated, but there wouldn’t be a reliable supply for a year or so. Replicated grains were somehow lacking, and it was possible to taste the difference. Since the nutritional value was undiminished, we’d have to live with it.

Other than that, for a while at least we all revelled in a feeling of superiority over the ‘narrow minded, bigoted’ planetary polities which had forced our exclusion. The few scientists who remained were living in their own little worlds of knowledge. They’d been told that remaining might mean their permanent exile from their own polities, but firstly, I doubted if they’d really registered the implications, and secondly, I would get them off Andromeda if they really wanted to leave. I found the avatars which Andromeda used in working with them amusing, being a mixture of ‘reconstructed’ scientists mainly from the nineteenth and twentieth centuries CE, and actual characters who had been ‘recorded’ when the technology emerged in the early twenty-first century. I somehow doubted the accuracy of the reconstructions of Einstein, Bohr, Oppenheimer, Hooke, Lavoisier, to name but a few, but somehow all the characters had gained the respect of the visitors. Even two girls who looked as though they weren’t old enough to have Bachelor’s let alone Doctorates.

Hex:

“Hex...” Andromeda’s voice sounded in my ears as I sat at the display on my desk. For once, I was on my own. No Anya, no Romy, no kids.

“Yes?”

“I need to inform you of something which may become important...”

I sighed. “Okay, Andromeda. I have to trust you. Go ahead.”

“You are aware of the hyper-capable ships which Captain Ross and his wife have been training on.”

“Indeed.”

“You know that my creators were very protective of their privacy, though usually non-violent.”

“Indeed.”

There was a very slight hesitation before the ancient, self-aware, computer continued. “There is, amongst the transport vessels, a small ... warship. What I believe you would call a ‘frigate’. It is hyper-capable, and is armed with particle-beam weapons. With your permission I will contact Captain Ross, and have the vessel moved to an access point.” There was another, almost imperceptible hesitation. “The ... vessel is ideally manned by at least two competent pilots. Weapons may be manned by your Marines.”

“I see. And the only currently competent pilots are Captain Scott and his wife.”

Andromeda’s response was, or felt to me, tentative and very quiet. “That is correct.”

“Very well. Proceed, but I will speak to Captain Ross.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

I sighed again. “I’m still Hex, Andromeda.”

Long pause. “But you are now ... King. Final authority. My programming...”

“Andromeda, please. I ... I love you. Please, don’t treat me as something above you. I couldn’t start to manage this planet without you.”

“Hex, I am a machine. I do not understand love, despite my avatar...”

“No, Andromeda, a ‘machine’ which can feel lonely is not just a machine. But I need to work, now.”

“Very well ... Hex.”

Our Terran communicators are not nearly as good as Andromeda herself, but I picked mine up and called the Ross home.

“Hello?” A mellow contralto voice – Gladys Ross, née Everest.

“Good afternoon, Missus Ross,” I said. “It’s Hex Finch. I wonder if I might have a word with Scott and yourself?”

“As it happens, Sir, yes. You’ve called at just the right moment.” I heard a muted thump as she put the handset down, and could make out her voice, “Scott, phone!”

“Hello?” Scott’s baritone, “You’re on speaker with both of us.”

“Hello, Scott. Please, at least in private, may I be Hex, not Sir?”

“If you say so, s ... Hex. How may we help you?”

“I’ve just had a conversation with Andromeda. She has revealed something else we weren’t aware of. You’ve been training on the hyperspace transports...” my comment was rhetorical, but Ross responded.

“Yes ... Hex. So far, only Gladys and myself have qualified.”

“So I believe. Andromeda informs me that there is a small warship tucked away, she says it’s what we’d call a frigate, armed with particle beam weapons.”

“Oh,” pause, “good Lord! You want me to pilot it?”

“Yes, but Andromeda tells me it requires two qualified pilots. The weapons can be used by others, Marines.”

“Gladys is pregnant, and we have to think of young Dougal.”

“Yes, you do. If you’re willing to trust Anya and Romy, Dougal would fit in well with Katya, William, Janet and Ivan – he’s about the same age as Ivan, I think?”

“Coming up to two, Standard.”

“Near enough.” Pause. “Scott, you and Gladys have to make up your minds. Take a cadet with you to get them up to speed. As I understand it, going solo would be riskier, and I’m sure you don’t want to leave Gladys a widow. For now, I doubt that we’re talking about high risk outings. Talk to Andromeda.”

“Okay.”

*************************

Scott Ross:

When Hex hung up, I looked at Gladys. She spoke.

“Scott, we’re committed to this world, aren’t we?”

I thought about that for a few seconds. “Yeah. I don’t want to leave. I mean, you’re my life now, you and Dougal and Peanut in there, but ... no. I love this place. I love you, and I love being able to be myself with you.”

“So, for now, I think we ought to be talking to Anya ... or Romy. Or both. And Andromeda.”

We did that. A few days later, we found ourselves, sans son in the care of the Finch family, standing in a distant corner of the big hangar containing the Andromedan hyper-space ships. In front of us, a small (relatively – about the same size as a Gamma transport) lethal-looking ship. I’m not sure exactly why it gave the impression of lethality, but it simply oozed power. A dull black so intense as to make it uncomfortable to look at. Assorted bulges, as well as the hyper-space nodes with which we were already familiar, though somewhat larger than those of the transports we’d been piloting.

A hatch opened and extruded a stair. We entered and made our way to the ... flight deck?

Couches, with elaborate restraints. Instrument panels, blank at first, but which came to life as we entered. Most of them familiar, but others...

We slipped into the pilot couches, and were gripped by force-fields; we could move our hands and turn our heads, but that was all. There was an almost imperceptible hum. The wall in front of us slid, or folded ... anyway, it wasn’t there. Just the outside. Andromeda’s pale lilac sky. Our hands just naturally rested on the plates in each couch arm. Almost a thought, and the ship lifted and slid forwards and up, out of the chamber.

The controls, the layout, were almost identical to the transports we’d been piloting, so we had no problem managing the craft, but the differences ... the differences were like comparing a sports-car to a truck. In fact, that was not far from the truth. Perhaps it would be more accurate to compare ... no. It actually was comparing a small warship to a heavy transport. Once clear of the hangar, I pointed the nose of the vessel to the sky and it climbed like an angel. The smallest, most delicate control movement produced an instant response, but the internal gravity controls eliminated almost all of the sensation of G-forces. Almost before we knew it, we were out of atmosphere, and I proceeded to put the craft through a series of manoeuvres which my original Alpha could not have matched.

“This is like...” I thought for a moment, “it’s almost like the aerobatic aircraft I flew while I was at the Academy. Take over, Sweetheart.” I lifted my hands from the plates.

Gladys stared at me for a moment, then grinned. Suddenly the ship was accelerating at a phenomenal rate, over two hundred kilometres per second squared. There was no physical sensation thanks to the inertial damping, but what the eyes transmitted to the brain was another matter entirely. I gasped and cringed for several seconds before my wife began to test the limits of the manoeuvrability of the little ship. Of course, at speeds a significant fraction of that of light, turns take up quite a lot of space, and halfway to the asteroid belt – which was much sparser than Earth’s, since Andromeda’s creators had mined it for materials – she began the deceleration.