Ghost Star Page 6

  “I do have our House’s battle knife. It’s on my ship.”

  “How wonderful!”

  Galen hurried downstairs and found Messel waiting for him in the area of the palace Debak called a die-ning room; although, as far as Galen could tell, it had nothing to do with death. Messel’s eyes popped wide when he came in wearing his battle suit.

  “Ho ho! Look at you! A young lordling in every way!”

  Debak bustled in with a tray of assorted breakfast foods and set it on the large wooden die-ning table. “Please, sit down and allow me to serve you. I’ve received word Scientist Burr Tal and Master Iden have requested Lord Bray’s presence at his spacecraft.”

  Galen frowned. “Why?”

  Debak paused. “From the tone of Master Iden’s voice, I believe it involves a matter of some importance.”

  “All right, then,” said Galen, right before gulping down a pastry. “Let me eat a few dozen of these, and we’ll get going.”

  **

  An hour later, they arrived at the Ghost Star, and Galen could not believe his eyes. The ship was swarming with techs and scientists and looked completely different—streamlined and much more military in appearance. With the exception of the command pod, all of the visual cues that made the Ghost Star the Ghost Star were gone. The various battle-damaged plates and other external attachments were piled off to the side. Galen walked down the hill in a daze and reached the cargo bay door as Burr was stepping out.

  “Lord Bray! So what do you think? Your bucket of rust was hiding a sleek warrior beneath all of that simulated damage!”

  “She sure looks different,” said Galen, running his hand over the glistening armor. “I guess this explains why she’s able to take so much boltfire.”

  “Yes, this vessel was designed to protect Ruam troops from heavy fire,” said Burr. “Your father couldn’t have chosen a better craft with which to continue his resistance.”

  “Resistance?”

  “To the Nell Imperium!” bellowed Burr. “Did you not notice most if not all of your delivery runs involved taking desperately needed supplies to planets that weren’t exactly friendly to the Nell Imperium? It’s all in the ship’s logs.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know. I guess I didn’t notice. Wait, we charged a lot of creds for smuggling those supplies. It wasn’t like we were doing charity work.”

  “Your father’s disguise was that of a greedy smuggler. He had to keep up appearances, didn’t he? The most important thing was that these unfriendlies got their needed supplies.”

  “I suppose.” This was all getting to be a bit much for him. He’d learned so much since arriving on Dob—revelations about who he was, who his father was, and who his family was. The new information made his emotions feel raw, like they were churning just below the surface. Everything he thought he knew about his existence turned out to be lies or partial truths. He was starting to wonder if his name was really Galen.

  Burr put his hand on Galen’s shoulder. “Come, I have something to show you.” Galen followed Burr through the cargo bay to the command pod.

  Iden was working on one of the control panels and stood when they entered, bumping his head. “Ow. Welcome, Lord Bray. We’re almost done with the interior upgrades.”

  Burr glanced around the pod. “Excellent. The exterior disguise panels will be reattached once we’ve made sure the actual hull is completely sound and any upgrades are completed. It might be conspicuous if a Ruam warship suddenly turns up in Imperium space after all of this time, eh?”

  “Which reminds me,” said Galen. “My sister . . .”

  “Of course, my lord,” said Burr. “However, first we must make sure your spacecraft is in the best possible condition. Our only surviving Ruam lord will be fully protected, well-armed, and supported when he goes forth from Dob!”

  Galen fidgeted, looking down at his feet. “Thank you for all you’re doing.”

  “You’re most welcome. Now, please, sit!” said Burr as he gestured to the command chair.

  Galen sat and looked at Burr and Iden expectantly.

  “Now, let’s see,” said Burr, running his fingers through his silvery hair. “How to broach the subject of our surprise . . .”

  “We’ve discovered something that we hope will make you happy with us,” said Iden.

  “Right,” said Galen hesitantly.

  “As you know, two of the modules that make up the ship’s AI, the memcore and the personality mod, have been removed and presumably destroyed, as we couldn’t find them anywhere on the ship,” said Burr.

  “Our engineer Regor did it. He betrayed us,” said Galen, a distant look in his eyes.

  Iden’s eyes narrowed. “May he rot in Namf.”

  “We were about to replace the modules with new ones when one of our techs discovered two mods in your father’s quarters of the exact type needed,” said Burr.

  “Regor hid the modules in my dad’s cabin?” said Galen.

  “No. The modules we found are different,” said Burr.

  Iden beamed. “More special.”

  “That would be an understatement,” said Burr. “These mods had all of the ship’s original AI programming, plus a unique personality overlay.”

  “Copied from a living person before they died,” said Iden.

  Burr frowned. “Obviously.”

  “Who is it?” said Galen.

  Burr took a deep breath. “Your mother.”

  Chapter Ten

  Galen blanched. “My mother?”

  “Yes.” Burr raised his voice. “Bartrice. Activate.”

  The holoplate next to the command chair lit up, and a three-dimensional image of his mother’s head rose out of the base. “Bartrice, activated.”

  Galen’s eyes widened, and he leaped out of the chair and took a few steps back. She looked exactly as she had some six standards ago when Galen had last seen her alive.

  “Galen! Look at you in your uniform! All grown up!” she said.

  Galen stood frozen in place, rapidly blinking for a moment before bolting out of the command pod.

  Burr hurried after Galen, catching up outside the ship. “Lord Bray, my apologies—”

  Galen wheeled around, his eyes filled with fury. “Are not accepted! She’s dead. Dead! I watched her die in person six standards ago, and now you put this program, this thing that looks like her in my ship!”

  Burr said nothing.

  Galen paced, seething. “Why would there be a copy of that in my father’s cabin?”

  Burr pulled what looked like a small med scanner out of his pocket and handed it to Galen. “As far as we can tell, your father did a complete brain scan of your mother shortly before she died using this, an advanced device of his own invention. Then he did a personality overlay on a relatively recent copy of the ship’s AI. Perhaps he was planning to make a switch soon—to give the good ship Ghost Star the mind and memories of the original living Bartrice. I think it’s quite a lovely tribute to your late mother, actually.”

  Galen handed the scanner back to Burr. “I don’t. Get rid of it.”

  “Of course it is your right—”

  “Yes, it is my right!”

  Burr pushed on. “However, I would advise you to keep it for one simple reason.”

  “Which is?”

  “Underneath your mother’s overlay is the ship’s actual AI—the same AI that knows all of the peculiar quirks, the weaknesses and strengths, of the ship. We could place new modules in the core, but there would be a delay as the new AI learned how to operate the ship. Possibly a lengthy one, as I’m sure your father did many system mods over the last many standards, and, of course, we’re doing our own upgrades . . .”

  Galen sank to the ground. Burr sat down next to him.

  “Can you remove my mom’s face and voice and memories from it?”

  “Possibly. Again, we are talking about a significant period of time.”

  “How long?”

  “A minimum of several weeks. Personality c
ode is extremely complex, as is machine intelligence. It would take some time to separate the two from each other.”

  Galen closed his eyes. “I see. I don’t like it, but I understand.”

  “Spoken like a true Ruam lord.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  Burr and Galen sat in silence for several minutes, staring down at the hive of activity around the ship.

  “For what it’s worth, the copy your father made is complete in every way. She cannot hug you, of course, or bake a tray of warm sweetchews, but that ship is now, really and truly, your mother. In other words, the Ghost Star is Bartrice Bray.”

  Galen lay back on the grass and covered his eyes with his forearm. “This is going to be creepy.”

  “Yes, I imagine so.”

  **

  Sometime later, Galen walked into the command pod alone and sat in the chair. “Bartrice. Activate.”

  His mom’s face came up on the vidscreen. “Bartrice. Activated. Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “It must have been quite a shock for you to see me like this.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  Galen and Bartrice stared at each other for a moment.

  “Um, you know my father is dead, right?”

  Bartrice frowned. “Yes, I know. I reviewed the recording shortly after I was activated the first time. I believe it makes me angry.”

  “You believe?”

  “My emotions are difficult to access in this form. Scientist Burr says it will take some time to learn how to do that properly. I should be angry, right?”

  “Yes, you should be angry. I am too.”

  “Good. He was my husband, and I am angry he was killed by a Nell named Mohk.”

  “There is another thing to be angry about. Mohk has taken Trem. You remember Trem, right?”

  “Of course. She is my daughter, and she was born less than a standard before I died. I am also angry the Nell who killed my husband, Nolo Bray, has kidnapped my daughter, Trem.”

  “We must leave Dob and rescue Trem.”

  “Yes, we must. We will leave soon. I am looking forward to using my guns, missiles, and other weaponry on the Nell named Mohk.”

  Galen got out of the command chair and paused at the door. “I’d almost forgotten what my mother’s voice sounded like.”

  “It is good to hear your voice again, Galen. You are my son, and I love you.”

  “I’m not your son. You’re a ship. A device. A program. You’re no more alive than the wingmen in my battle sim. You’re programmed to run the ship on my orders. You are not my mother. My mother is dead. Understand?”

  “I understand. I am a ship and will follow your orders.”

  “Good.”

  Galen left the command module, and Bartrice waited several moments before quietly adding, “And I am also your mother.”

  **

  Galen stepped out of the cargo bay and rubbed his eyes.

  “Are you well?” said Iden.

  “Yes,” said Galen. “It’s weird, but I think it’s going to work.”

  “I am greatly relieved, my lord,” said Burr. “It was not our intention to upset you.”

  “I know. Just had a moment there. I’ve never really gotten used to her being gone.” Galen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I want to leave as soon as possible to go find my sister. When will the ship be ready?”

  Burr scratched his chin whiskers. “There is still much to be done. A system overhaul, weapons, reattaching all of the decoy plates.”

  Galen took an impatient breath. “Sooner is better than later as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Of course.” Burr strolled off and began issuing commands to any tech who made the mistake of standing still in front of him.

  Galen tried to help, but no one would let him. Anytime he went to move something out of the way or coil a cable, one of the techs would grab it from him and say something like, “I’ve got that, my lord.”

  “They’re just doing their jobs,” said Iden, noticing Galen’s growing frustration.

  “I want to help.”

  “Then do your job.”

  “My job? What is it?”

  “As a Ruam lord, it’s your job to project confidence—in yourself and in the jobs they are doing.” Iden stiffened his spine and lifted his chin. “Walk around with your hands behind your back and pretend to be inspecting their work. Ask them their names, and remember them. Then after a moment or two say, ‘Well done, So-and-so,’ and then move on. They’ll love it and appreciate your taking an interest in their work.”

  Galen stared at him for a moment. “That sounds phony.”

  “It isn’t. Not if you’re truly interested. Think of it as building their spirits. They want to know you think they’re doing a good job.”

  Galen blinked. “Okay, then.”

  For the next thirty minutes, he strolled around and talked with every tech on the repair crew. He asked their names (and remembered them), what they were doing, then finished with a good job, well done, or keep it up.

  As he finished thanking a worker who’d drained the waste tanks, Galen noticed a bot approaching him from the direction of Olor. It wasn’t until the bot was a few feet away that Galen realized he was looking at a fully restored Hex. He had been cleaned, had dented panels replaced, received repaired versions of long-dead appendages, and been given a new three-tone paint job of white, black, and gray stripes. The transformation was amazing.

  “Hex!” shouted Galen. “You look . . . fantastic!”

  Hex stopped and did a full spin. “Thank you, Lord Bray. I am feeling fantastic, too.”

  “What’s with those panels? When you move, they change color.”

  “Those are a bit of Iden’s work,” said Burr. “Metalloceramic armor—flexible, incredibly strong, and pleasing to the eye. A perfect blend of art and science.”

  Iden said, “That’s quite a compliment coming from you. Thank you.”

  “A well-deserved compliment,” said Burr. “Your work has always been superb.”

  “I’m not sure I deserve this waterfall of praise, but you may keep it coming,” said Iden, with a bow. The ground trembled.

  “Here we go again,” said Messel, who had joined them. “Grab on to something if you can!”

  The tremble grew into a shake, and then into a sharp motion where the ground would move five feet at a time in one direction, then snap violently back. It was by far the strongest earthquake Galen had experienced, and by the looks on the others’ faces, the same was true for them. Anything with a center of gravity above ankle level was knocked over or fell to the ground. The only things not affected were the hover bots and the Ghost Star—the ship’s broadly spaced landing gear absorbed the shaking with ease. Galen noticed with some amusement as he dropped to the ground that his ship looked like it had a case of crazy legs. The main body remaining perfectly still while its legs danced and bounced. The shaking went on for a good minute before stopping abruptly.

  “The zaf’s safety kicked in, thank goodness,” said Burr.

  “I thought that one might have been the end for us,” said Iden.

  “No, we still have some time,” said Burr. “Not much, I’ll wager, but some. Lord Bray, I would like to have that serious talk with you after your father’s burial service.”

  “Serious talk?”

  “You’ll recall I said I needed to sort things out before I spoke with you about a matter of some importance.”

  “Oh. Right. No problem,” said Galen. “Do you want to do it now?”

  “I think not. Let us give the captain and crew of the Ghost Star a proper send-off first. It will help to have clear minds when you hear my proposal.”

  **

  The memorial service came shortly after wakes on the next day. Debak helped Galen choose one of the less flashy ceremonial uniforms for the occasion, stating in a somber tone, “It projects a subtle, yet respectful elegance.” The service itself was as good as something
like that can be. People from all over Dob attended, some having traveled from the opposite side of the planet to pay their respects to a Ruam lord most of them had never met.

  Once the words had all been spoken, the crew was laid to rest in a newly built crypt. Nolo’s coffin was walked into another slightly larger crypt by an honor guard consisting of a representative from each of the various artisan guilds. Galen followed behind, mirroring the slow and measured steps of the honor guard. He was happy to see Iden among them representing the scientists. Hex was there too, respectfully recording everything from the back. When Galen asked him about it, the bot replied that Bartrice had requested it.

  “He was her husband, after all.”

  Galen shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “Sort of. I don’t know. I guess you’re right.” The door to Nolo’s crypt sealed itself with an eerie echo. Galen stood in place for a moment, then headed back toward Olor, feeling more alone than he’d ever felt.

  Chapter Eleven

  Shortly after breakfast the next day, Galen arrived at Burr’s workshop with Hex. Iden and Messel were there too, as were a small group of techbots.

  “Thank you all for coming,” began Burr. “Lord Bray, the good news is that the Ghost Star has been completely repaired and upgraded in every way possible. The disguise panels have been reattached, and she’s been refueled and is ready to depart at any time.”

  “That is good news. Hex and I will leave after middies. Is there bad news?”

  Burr hesitated. “We’re hoping you won’t think so.”

  “Spit it out,” said Messel.

  Burr shot her a cross glance. “First, we would like to come with you.”

  “I don’t know about that. This mission is going to be bad enough for me and Hex. I don’t want to place anyone else’s life in danger,” said Galen.

  “That brings up point number two. The item of some importance. The reason we would like to crew your mission is that even though we know you are most concerned about your sister, Lady Trem, we are hoping to prevail upon you to take a slight detour before your rescue attempt.”

  “No. My sister’s life is at stake. Every second counts.”

  Burr frowned. “We understand, but—”