Mech 3: The Empress Read online

  Her mother. That must be it. Nina realized Duchess Embrak must have had dealings with her mother—dealings so unpleasant, that she wished to see her daughter’s downfall.

  Nina understood enemies well. She did not accept that they may simply oppose an idea—they opposed the person. Therefore, whatever Nina proposed or promoted in the future, this woman would stand in her way.

  There were several ways of dealing with an enemy. Sometimes, groveling was in order. Abasing one’s self at the feet of a superior often worked by appealing to the other’s ego. Another approach was avoidance. She had practiced that system for many long years with her mother. By never being in the same place at the same time, an enemy could be kept quiet. With luck, they might go elsewhere to abuse more accessible game.

  Nina did not feel either of these paths were open to her in the Duchess’ case. She was not going to grovel for anyone—especially not this witch. And she could not easily avoid the chairwoman of the ruling council, the very body that passed judgment upon her advancement. Therefore, there was only a single route left open to her.

  She would have to plow right through the woman. She smiled vaguely as the meeting broke up. She liked this plan. The direct approach appealed to her. It was, after all, the Droad way.

  #

  When Lizett awoke, she was not the same. Gone was the easy-going happy mech Sixty-Two had come to enjoy. The new Lizett was still innocent, but she was frightened and confused right from the start. Sixty-Two began to understand why their grim masters had been so through in cleansing their minds. If convicted mechs were still able to feel anger, fear and depression, there would be little work that could be gotten out of them once they understood their fates.

  “What am I?” Lizett asked.

  The pain in her voice troubled Sixty-Two. He’d hoped freeing her to feel things would be a joy to her. But he had considered the opposite possibility too. Fear, anguish and horror were emotions just as real as love and happiness. And his ragtag group of mechs, who had been left to wander the wastes of Sunside, had plenty of reasons to experience these less pleasant feelings.

  “You are just what you have always been, since I met you,” he told her gently.

  “I’m a monster. I thought I would be whole again.”

  “I can only fix your mind, Lizett. There is plenty of mind-scrubbing equipment out here in the mines scattered here and there over Sunside. But there is nothing that will allow me to build you the body you once had.”

  “I’m not happy.”

  “How old are you, Lizett? Do you remember?”

  “No,” she said, and she began a strange, keening sound.

  Sixty-Two suspected she was crying, and her speakers did not know how to process the input. “Don’t cry,” he said. “Do you want to remember more? Do you want to know who you were?”

  Lizett regained control of herself and took her grippers away from her orbs. “I don’t know. What if I was someone awful? I must have done something to deserve this. I don’t see how remembering my crimes and my conviction would make me happier.”

  Sixty-Two was secretly pleased. Lizett, for the very first time after knowing her for several ten-days, had expressed an actual opinion! She had weighed his question and come up with a judgment of her own. A decision that was not derived simply from whatever she thought he wanted.

  “Lizett,” he said. “Whether you think so or not, I believe this experiment was a success. You are just like me now. We have most of our humanity back—everything but our bodies and our unpleasant pasts. In a way, that is not too bad. We have each other now. We can have real conversations. Companionship, that’s the key. I’m feeling happy right now.”

  “You are? Are you enjoying my pain?”

  “No, not exactly. But I’m glad you can feel it. Without the power of feeling anguish or happiness, life is pretty pointless. More importantly, I believe we’ll do better now against our old masters.”

  “Why do you say that?” she asked.

  “Do you want to die?”

  “No!”

  “Do you want to have parts of your structure blown off?”

  “Of course not,” she said angrily.

  “Exactly. You will work hard to prevent those things. Soldiers must care about their well-being to be effective.”

  “They’re still smarter than we are.”

  “Perhaps,” Sixty-Two admitted, “but we are tougher.”

  Fourteen

  The Parent did as the Empress had commanded. She specially seeded one her wombs and after the new offspring quickened to the stage of ravenous larva, she gave birth to a single nife. Days later, she crouched upon her birthing throne of brown, secreted resins and reflected upon her fate. Nothing could be more depressing than giving birth to the engine of one’s own demise. At least the new offspring was easy to pass—nothing like the painful labor required to produce one of the massive juggers.

  Another few weeks went by while the nife commander matured. The Parent busied herself during this time with organizational details. The Empress had at least given her the go-ahead to prepare the planetary assault formations. She focused on these matters intently, and avoided visiting the imperial chambers. Fortunately, the Empress did not summon her.

  The problem of producing an effective invasion force was not a simple one. Normally, the Skaintz Imperium would have seeded and grown their landing craft, for example, using manufactured metals only for propulsion systems and armament. Since organic base materials were in short supply however, she decided to use more metal and less bio-organic mass in these critical spacecraft. The fast majority of the available organics had to be converted into troops to man the ships.

  Given these restrictions, defensive fighters and landing craft were the easiest to produce. Gladius was huge and full of spare parts. Using these with the cunning of their species, she ordered the Imperium trachs and hests to build thirty fighters and a matching complement of assault vehicles.

  These ships were half-built by the time the big day arrived, the day when her new high-born offspring was ready to assume his adult duties. The nife quickly came to visit her, which was unsurprising.

  “I have arrived!” he announced, as if every trach, hest and scampering larvae present should turn their immediate and full attention to him. He commenced parading up and down in front of her birthing throne in swaggering fashion. This was typical behavior for his type, but she still found it instantly irritating.

  She did not respond to the nife immediately. She was too busy straining to relieve herself of four new trachs. These were large, dumb larvae designed for manual labor. Their bodies were bulky and table-shaped with a single heavy claw mounted on the back for lifting. The Parent resolved not to attempt gestating four of them at the same time in the future—if she had much of a future, which she doubted. When producing four identical offspring, they tended to all want to be born on the same day and the results were excruciating.

  “Welcome to the Imperial Mothership,” the Parent finally said. “Have you had time to review our forces? I await your suggestions.”

  “I’d rather review your person!” he said suggestively.

  The Parent made a dismissive noise with her foodtube.

  Enthusiasm undiminished, the nife held his cusps high, eyeing her with a smug expression she immediately disapproved of. Now that he was standing near, she felt a rush of hormones. In the presence of a rare male of her species, it was only natural. But she simultaneously found she disliked him on an intellectual level.

  “Rudeness is not becoming in one so young,” she admonished.

  Oddly, the nife did not look crestfallen due to her rebuke. Instead, he stopped pacing and stepped closer to the birthing throne. Brazenly close.

  “This is not the reception I expected,” he said.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we must prepare a critical invasion, and since you’ve only just matured—”

  “Ahem,” said the nife, interrupting. “I’ve discusse
d this matter with the Empress. In fact, I’ve just come from her chambers. A fine-looking creature she is. I compliment you on your production of such a magnificent being.”

  Flattered and alarmed at the same time, the Parent didn’t know quite what to say.

  “Perhaps you’ve forgotten the Empress’ commands?” the nife said gently. He released a gush of pheromones, and such was the power of them in such proximity, the Parent felt light-headed. She’d never smelled a male before. It was intoxicating.

  “Ah—of course she did. But there are so many other matters to attend to.”

  “No, no,” the nife said. “Nothing is more critical than obeying the commands of one’s own Empress.”

  He circled her and stood behind the throne. She could feel his bodyheat, almost touching her.

  “I—I suppose not,” she said.

  Then, before she quite realized what was happening, she felt the nife mating with her. A part of her protested. This was all wrong. He was incredibly young and had spent no more than a few moments courting her. He was her own offspring as well, a circumstance which wasn’t the best for genetic perfection. Normally, she would have mated with an experienced, proven nife from another colony. There were none available, but still it seemed improper.

  She considered ending the indignity. She had powerful tentacles, which were quite capable of ripping him from her posterior and dashing him to the deck. But she didn’t do it.

  If the Empress had not commanded this action be taken, she would never have allowed this. She swore to herself that she would have put a stop to it. But as it was, she bore the indignity—and to a surprising degree she found that she enjoyed it. After the act had been completed, the nife looked more smug than ever. She glowered at him resentfully.

  “I’ll be off to perform that inspection now,” he said. “Rest easy in the knowledge that a true professional is at the helm! You will not be disappointed in my performance—on or off the throne.”

  She grunted at him and flapped a tentacle, waving him away.

  Hours later, within her womb, she felt four new Parents attach themselves to her organic receptors. Four at once—it had been an unusually successful mating.

  Her natural pride at the accomplishment was dampened by the knowledge that when these new offspring matured, they were destined to replace her. Her own young would unfailingly execute the will of the Empress.

  They would come to this very chamber to pay their respects to their own Parent, and then they would space her alive. It was a depressing thought.

  #

  The nife commander came to visit the Parent again the very next day. This time, she felt much less intrigued by his wafted scents. His swagger was annoying, rather than intriguing. He paraded in front of her birthing throne, but this elicited nothing more than a whistling sigh from her.

  “What are you thinking about?” the nife asked suggestively.

  “I’m wondering when you are going to stop strutting about and make your report.”

  The nife’s stalks lowered, taking his cusps with it. His orbs were barely visible. “I see,” he said haughtily. “I had thought perhaps another interlude was required—”

  “Think again. All four of my chambers have been seeded.”

  “Really? On the first try?”

  “I’ve said as much.”

  The nife puffed up again, but this time with pride rather than hopes of a repeat mating. “I’d no idea. This will not be forgotten. I’ll retell the story—”

  The Parent slapped a tentacle loudly. The report boomed and echoed from the walls. She’d learned this technique of gaining the attention of smaller underlings from the Empress. The effect was gratifying. The nife looked startled—and even more importantly, he shut up about the mating.

  “Very well then,” he said. “Let me say my report of our situation is grim. We are running out of time, and your choices regarding vehicle production were amateurish at best.”

  “Specify.”

  “An even number of fighters and landing craft? Preposterous! The customary number is two fighters—preferably three—for every assault vehicle full of vulnerable troops.”

  “I’ve studied the matter, one fighter for each craft is sufficient—”

  “Ah, but what about when they are away? What craft are going to defend the mothership? The very ship upon which our glorious monarch resides?”

  The Parent froze, realizing her mistake. “I had no way of knowing—”

  “Yes, yes, the perpetual bleating of the loser. I can’t believe you took so long to produce me.”

  With every word the nife spoke, her disdain grew. How could she have actually mated upon her first meeting with this insulting, pompous little—

  “…excuse me, but are you even listening, my Parent?”

  The Parent shook herself and ruffled her birthing sacs. “Continue,” she commanded.

  “Well, as I was saying, we are far too close to the target system. We must delay the landing. Our first priority must be navigational. Increase deceleration rates to full, and—”

  “This cannot be done,” she said. “The ship is of alien design and on a pre-programmed flight path.”

  “Well then, introduce a virus to abort the mission program.”

  “Not feasible, and too dangerous. This is not an imperial ship.”

  “I’ve noticed. It’s much too cold for comfort, and the endless flat planes of metal—they are beyond comprehension. These aliens must love geometry and worship the straight line as some sort of god.”

  “Perhaps they do,” she agreed, “but the facts are we aren’t completely conversant in their technology. If we abort the mission program, we may not be able to substitute our own.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “A difficult choice, but I see your point. That puts a different light on matters. We have barely two months to prepare an invasion force against a completely unknown enemy. Daunting. You should have produced me and fresh Parents to increase biological production months ago.”

  “Is that right?” she said, feeling a sense of triumph. “I will make a point of passing that nugget of wisdom to the Empress upon our next meeting.”

  The nife’s orbs had been wandering, but now they snapped back to her, giving her his full attention. “And why would you do that?”

  “Well, I’m sure she will be interested in your criticisms.”

  “Criticisms? My task is to marshal our military forces. I only sought to alter a clearly flawed schedule of priorities.”

  “‘Clearly flawed’ I’ll make sure to use that wording.”

  “I don’t—ah…are you saying that the Empress…?”

  “She is the Imperial representative aboard this vessel. She has set the production schedules. It is her work you have been scoffing at.”

  The nife looked thoughtful. It was a new expression, and the Parent was glad to see it. For once, he didn’t have an instant, cocky answer to everything.

  “Why exactly did you decide to give birth to an Empress?” he asked.

  The Parent crossed her fore-tentacles and leaned forward on her throne. Doing so caused a fresh larva to fall from one of her aft chambers. A hest scuttled forward to retrieve the squirming thing and carry it off to the nursery.

  “Are you suggesting that was a mistake in that department as well?” she asked. In her mind, she was already foreseeing a dual spacing.

  “I’m suggesting nothing of the kind!”

  “Good. I’ve made careful notes upon the rest of your remarks, however. You must excuse me, as I need to go speak with the Empress.”

  “Wait!” cried the nife in sudden alarm. “Why would you do that? She might space me as well. Don’t you wish to see the Imperium triumph?”

  “Naturally, but I’ll be dead by the time it does. Do not worry on that account. The Empress will enjoy your statements as much as I have, I’m sure.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because you are a rude and thoughtless offspring. I believe
I might actually enjoy my final moments if I were provided the spectacle of seeing you twirling out into space beside me. We can asphyxiate and freeze together in the darkness.”

  The Parent struggled as she climbed down from her birthing throne and dragged her bloated body toward the exit. She left a trail of glistening liquids behind her.

  “Don’t be so hasty!” the nife wailed, following her. He wafted pheromones in her path, but now that she was pregnant with new daughters, she was immune.

  “Out of my way, or I’ll flatten you as I should have upon our first meeting.”

  The nife persisted however, following her out into the hallway. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said.

  She paused. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Withhold your report—indefinitely. In turn, I’ll adjust my own. We have very little time to prepare for this campaign. In truth, your services are needed to produce as many troops as possible if only for shipboard defense. If we can’t build enough fighters to defend the invasion forces and the mothership, then we can at least create troops to protect the Empress’ person. To do so will require every Parent we have, working at full capacity. I will endeavor to convince the Empress of these new realities. As you know, I can be very persuasive.”

  The Parent halted and pretended to consider the offer carefully. “For the good of the Imperium,” she said at last.

  The nife’s stalks rose again, and his orbs fairly popped from his cusps. “Exactly! For the good of the Imperium!”

  #

  Aldo Moreno had quickly arranged the situation aboard Aareschlucht to his liking. He and Joelle slept in the forward cabin—a chamber once occupied by the Captain. The bizarre skald was left in the lower decks in the aft region of the ship, with orders to keep an eye on the engines, which he professed to have knowledge of.