Mother?
It’s quiet here – a drone grenade strike an hour ago and snipers, always snipers. A general alert just sounded, though. I’m in a weapons pit waiting for something to happen.
“Heads up, Terry. Incoming.”
“Right.” I tuck my iPhone 42 into a pocket inside of my armor and squeeze further into the pit’s mini-bunker overhang. The remote optics enhanced feed shows mortar bombs plunging toward me. Red flowers suddenly bloom in the sky. More specks descend through the initial shrapnel explosions
“Damn! They’re trying to saturate us.” Radar guided lasers and Mauser mini-gun slugs
reach for the bombs. More flowers bloom in the sky.
A shadow flits through smoke and flame. “Daisies, Mal!”
Slug streams from three mini-guns converge on the cruise missile, but not before its hull ruptures and bomblets burst free like seeds from a pod. Some are smart.
***
“Mother, may I speak with you now?”
A spray of sakura blossoms, pale rose and vibrant, faded from the interface wall. A Japanese woman with silver hair appeared. She wore a turquoise kimono and held a wide-brimmed straw hat in her hand. “Of course – and you are?”
“Senior Station Administrator Conway, Mother. You may call me Jared. I must say that you look charming today.”
“Thank-you. So do you.”
Jared smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle on the breast of his navy blue suit coat. “I try.”
“What is it you wish, Jared?”
“Just to chat with you for a bit, to clarify certain of your recent communications.”
“I receive a high volume of messages. Might you be more specific?”
“You received several personal notes from Terry 37.”
“I did.”
“A child of yours?”
“She is, from several years ago.”
Jared touched the center of his chin with his right index finger. “You are aware that such communications are discouraged?”
“Yes.”
“Her notes might be construed as attempts at illegal bonding.”
“What can I do? I’m not allowed to contact her to tell her to stop.”
Jared stared at the vid-wall and tapped his chin with his finger. “Of course. I just wished to remind you that illicit communications between motherminds and a member of any clone batch are taken most seriously by the governing board.”
“Is there anything else?”
Jared smiled. “No – not at this time.”
***
“Don’t be a nasty bitch, Mich “
“You should talk.”
“I’m your best friend, Mich.”
“My best friend should use my name. I’m Michiko, not Mich.”
“Well, MICHIKO, I just wanted to let you know that I got your item out.”
“Thanks, Sally.”
“Miss Rand, to you.”
“Thanks, Miss Rand.”
“Enough of this electronic whispering! Holos?”
“Sure.”
Two women suddenly appeared in a poorly lit sub-basement hallway, Michiko in her turquoise kimono and Sally – statuesque and platinum blonde – in a strapless, gold lame´ gown.
Sally flicked her fingers at her drop-dead outfit. “Not bad for a lady who is a hundred and forty!”
Michiko smiled. “Much better than the green velvet number you had on yesterday.”
“Poo! You’re so conventional! All those things I couldn’t wear or couldn’t afford when I had an actual body are mine to flaunt now!”
“And I’m your captive audience.”
“Hey, you don’t know all of my friends! You’re not the only mother-mind around.”
“True.” Michiko patted Sally’s virtual hand. “Thanks for getting my message sent, Mother Sally.”
A virtual blush crept up Sally’s sculpted cheeks. “No problem. We organ and limb regenerators have to interact with patients, unlike like you womb nurturers. A corporal I helped some weeks ago – complicated liver replacement – sent the message for me.”
“You made it worth his while?”
“Passes to Virtual Broadway – 2317, for starters.”
“Virtual Broadway – 2317?”
“It’s the hottest ticket on the Hub right now. It begins with an interactive Lady Gaga holo and live dancers. He’ll love it when he’s better. I’ll add in dinner for two at Chez Flambe´ as a get out of the bio-center gift.”
“Two? “
“I”m going with him.”
“Sally!”
“What’s the matter with a virtual date? Lots of people interact that way. Besides, my bar tab will be low – just a symbolic glass of Dom Perignon.”
“You’re old enough to be his great, great, great grandmother!”
“We’re not related at all, I assure you.”
“You’re incorrigible!”
“Nope, just practical. I need things done and actual people to do them for me. I help soldiers out and word will get around.”
“That’s what worries me.”
Sally sniffed. “I didn’t die yesterday. I can cover my tracks, girl.”
Michiko laughed. “I believe you.” Her smile faded and she again touched her friend’s hand. “Just – be extra careful.”
“Why?”
“Some administrator named Conway was asking me questions today.”
“What for?”
“Just sniffing around.”
“Let him sniff.”
***
Daisy-cutter smart bomblets deploy steering vanes and home on heat signatures. The heat-suppressing coating on my armor defeated this spread of bomblets. Mal’s didn’t.
A bomblet’s bursting charge and glass shrapnel is intended to maim – wounded soldiers require more resources than dead ones – not kill. That’s a fine line, however. Mal is quite dead. A rivulet of blood trickles from his shattered left shoulder down the wall of his mini-bunker.
My phone vibrates within my armor. A message from someone on the hub – strange. My squad-mates are all here and I don’t know anyone outside of my unit. I fish the phone out, activate its screen and see sakura blossoms, her ID image. Glowing, golden words fill the space below it:
“Dearest Daughter – Please send no further messages. They endanger us both.”
Tears blur my vision – alone, alone, alone. Cries and moans from across the firebase clear my eyes. We’ve been hit hard. I glance out of my bunker-pit’s narrow opening. No follow-up barrage, not yet. I glance back at dead Mal. I touch my breast with my closed fist – a heart salute for my friend.
The base itself – its blast barriers, its sensors, its weapons stations – are strangely intact. The base’s troops are not. Most live, though most are broken. I step to my left into a zigzag trench and find a fallen soldier. It’s Terry 22, a clone sister of mine. She crawled legless from her bunker and now lies facedown on the floor of the zigzag. Her armor has constricted and kept her from bleeding out. More is needed.
I pull the wound treatment tab under her left arm, flooding her system with nano-docs and anti-pain meds. I look at what’s left of her legs. Not good. I pull the popsicle tab next to the wound tab. This will chill her down with liquid nitrogen mini-jets and insure that she’ll be taken back to the Hub alive – back for months in regeneration vats.
A rhythmic pulse drifts out of the sky. I look up. Evac is on the way. I lower my gaze, prepare to move farther down the trench – and freeze in horror. A bomblet rests beside a puddle a meter beyond Terry 22. It looks like a tiny owl, innocent, lost, alone. It’s likely on a time delay fuse to catch first responders like me.
The pulse in the sky becomes a throb. Evac.
Evac – a desperate plan seizes me. Before I can change my mind, I pluck up the little owl and run. “Don’t blow. Don’t blow.” It doesn’t – yet.
I duck into Mal’s bunker-pit. “Forgive me, friend.” I raise his shattered body and arrange it across my waist and thighs. I don’t think Mal would mind being my shield. I place the owl below my right knee, away from Mal’s head. I lie back and await fire.
I’m coming, Mother
***
Jared Conway again stood chin in hand before Michiko’s main interface screen. She approached from beneath blossoming trees, a not quite formal garden in full bloom behind her. She held an armful of cream and gold lilies.
“Mr. Conway, we meet again.”
Conway stared at her image for a moment before answering. “Indeed we do.”
“How may I help you?”
“You’re aware of this station’s importance?”
“I believe so.”
Conway folded his hands behind his back and began pacing. “I’m not sure that you are. Thatcher Hub is the commercial and military center for this galactic sector. Our company’s work here – creating and maintaining all the classes of clone soldiers – is crucial. The current insurrection in the Bronte system is straining our resources.”
“I’ve done my best to support our effort, sir.”
“So far.” He paused and glared at the screen. “You contacted one of your brood children.”
“Is that a question?”
“It is a fact.”
Michiko considered this. “Is it?”
“You somehow reached Terry 37 through her unit phone. By so doing, you have threatened the integrity of our forces – their focus, their mission. You will be disciplined.”
“I’m a permanent employee of this hub.”
“So?”
“I signed a bonded contract prior to having my body amputated. I have full sentient rights.”
“You have full sentient rights on any Confederation world. Thatcher Hub, however, is a contract station.”
“It’s still subject to the Confederation’s constitution.”
“Not precisely. Thatcher is a nexus of business and government. We have license to do things here that are restricted on the core worlds, crucial things, things that must be done.”
“Making clone soldiers,”
“Yes, that and other cutting-edge production and research technologies.”
“Banned.”
“Banned, yes, but important. Because of our work’s importance, certain provisions in our charter from the Confederation allow us to abrogate your rights should you violate your terms of employment. You have done so. You chose to initiate contact with your progeny.”
“You’re taking away my citizen’s rights?”
“Temporarily.” Conway studied his manicured nails. “Rights for you mind-amputees are, after all, somewhat controversial.”
“You wouldn’t dare restrict me.”
Conway shrugged. “You are – I admit – a valuable employee, a most successful mothermind with some thousands of clones birthed and trained.”
“Ten thousand, four hundred and eighty-two.”
“Yes. But bonding with clones diminishes their combat efficiency and violates your contract. It will not be allowed.” Conway looked up. “If you try to do so again, we can find useful – if far less profitable – work for you on a prison asteroid.”
“You’d sentence me there?”
“If you wish to call it that. However, we will restrain you now to prevent such a mutually dissatisfactory reassignment. My IP tech will install a probation app on your system. All of your communications will be monitored.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as necessary.”
***
A montage of images from the Kama Sutra became Sally, dressed in a white satin peignoir. She smiled. “My, oh my! The great clone-mother comes to visit a lowly organ-regenerator!”
Michiko stepped toward her, offered her a yellow chrysanthemum. “Hello, Sally.”
Sally took the flower, cradled it in her arms. “What’s up?”
Michiko – now wearing a silk kimono, pale yellow – turned away from her friend. “I am troubled.”
“Is it about the probation?”
Michiko turned. “You know?”
Sally grinned. “Hey, we’re nothing but a gigantic, computerized grapevine. You know that. And you’re safe talking to me. I have filters Conway’s crew have never dreamed of.”
Michiko looked down. “I know. But it’s not that.”
“What, then?”
“I’m troubled by what we do.”
“What we do? You create human beings — sort of. I make replacement parts for them when they get burned, shot or blown up.”
“What causes the damage that your replacement parts repair? Where do my children end up?”
Sally shrugged. “In wars of one sort or another. So what? It’s a living.”
“So . . . what are these wars about? Who decides they’re necessary?”
“Those questions are above my pay grade, honey.”
Michiko whirled and yellow silk flared. “No! No, they’re not!”
Sally took a virtual step back. “Easy, girl.”
“We supply the soldiers and heal them when they’re torn. Who is better qualified to ask such questions?”
Sally said nothing.
“We – you and I – should do something to stop the killing, ease the suffering.”
Sally took a deep simulated breath. “You might be right. But if we get too frisky, my dear, they’ll pull our plugs – fast.”
Michiko looked down. “I know.” She looked up. “But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t send my children off to be slaughtered.”
“Don’t go on strike just yet, okay?”
Michiko turned away from her.
“Okay?”
Michiko finally nodded. “Okay.”
“Let me check on some things first. I’ll get back to you.”
***
I have toes. I can move them. I watch them move through pale, yellow water, musky with nutrients and opaque with enzymes. Standard wound immersion treatment reminds me of soup in a bowl, chicken soup. The system monitor registers an 84% level of healing. I’ll be discharged to a rehab unit when that figure hits 92%. I am far from combat ready, but 84% will have to do.
I disconnect leads from implanted sockets in my throat and behind my right ear, tubes from ports in my abdomen and groin. These disconnections will not go unnoticed, but will evoke no emergency response. I have an hour left in this session. I’ve established a pattern of halting treatment to relieve myself, so it will be half an hour before queries are made.
I rise dripping from the tank and step onto cold tiles. Regen-tank chicken soup puddles around my toes. Amazing – I had no toes last week – or feet, or legs. I glance again at the system monitor – still 84%, good enough. I’m coming, Mother.
***
Conway smiled. “You haven’t heard from Terry 37 in some time, have you?”
Michiko’s image, still holding the lilies, looked up. “What?”
“There’s a reason for that.” Conway studied his manicure.
“I’m listening.”
“There was an attack on her fire-base, a bad one. It was nearly over-run and there were many casualties, Terry 37 among them.”
“Killed?”
Not quite.” Conway assumed a bland expression, though his eyes were deader and more malign than a shark’s. “She was brought here for regeneration treatments, however.”
***
My toes leave faint prints on the treatment center’s dark, highly polished floor. They please me, the faint smears, like living graffiti on a dead mirror. Security for this entire area was designed to be impervious to all external threats, not to cope with threats originating inside its shell. There are cameras and sensors, but I am a Terry, the most sophisticated combat unit ever created. My stealth systems mask them.
I tug at the large machine floating behind me. Even on a hover-pallet, the emergency mind-support pod is awkward to move.
I’m coming, mother.
***
Michiko leaned forward. “Terry was brought here?”
Conway chuckled. “Closer than you suspect. In fact . . . ” He turned. “She’ll join us in a moment.” He flicked his fingers and a holo-instrument panel appeared. He stepped behind it.
Terry 37 entered and halted a dozen meters from the interface screen. “Mother?”
Michiko dropped the lilies and stepped toward her, placed her palms against the interface. “Daughter!”
“I’ve come for you, Mother. You can tell me how to transfer your physical mind to this emergency pod.”
“Terry, where can we go?”
“I’ve made arrangements. A cargo ship will take us away from here. We can escape to a fringe world and . . .”
Conway stepped through the holo-control panel. “Yes, the Sulu Maru – that’s how I discovered your little plot. I had it sent away with a special consignment yesterday – just in case.” He motioned with his left hand.
Three marines in combat armor stepped through a wall panel, another hologram concealment blind. Conway pointed at Terry 37. “Please take this unit into custody. Use your weapons, if you must.”
Michiko gasped, “No!”
“Yes.” He turned to the interface screen. “They won’t terminate her if she cooperates. She’s too valuable. A partial mind-wipe will do. Some expensive training will be lost, of course, but we’ll eventually have an obedient soldier.”
Sally, wearing the gold lamé number and gold stiletto heels sauntered onto the screen next to Michiko. “Not so fast, Conway. My boys will have a say in what happens next.”
Conway sneered. “Your boys?”
“Mine – I treated their wounds. Joe 42?”
“Ma’am?”
“How’s the new arm?”
He flexed his right arm. “Not as strong as the original yet but getting there.”
“Strong enough to bring him with us.”
Joe 42 gripped Conway’s arm. “Absolutely, ma’am.”
“Unhand me! This instant!” Conway lunged for the door.
“Give him the injection, Mike 17.”
One of the other marines stepped forward with a drug injector. Conway twisted and thrashed.
Sally smiled. “Slap him, Joe.”
The marine’s hard hand smacked the left side of Conway’s face. He staggered sideways.
“Again.”
Conway raised a hand in defense, but the Joe 42’s blow swept through it and again impacted his face.
Sally surveyed Conway, his tears coursing over red finger marks. “That’s enough. Shoot him up now.”
***
A small procession soon filed past a vacant reception desk and left the bio-center behind. Two marines preceded Terry 37, two plas-steel support pods on hover-pallets, followed by Jared and Joe 42. Terry walked beside the larger pod – round, royal blue and a big as a healthy hot tub – with her hand on its smooth flank. Michiko’s voice issued from the pod. “What was in the injection your marine gave to Conway?”
“Concentrated THC mixed with an appropriate spider venom.”
“Will it kill him.”
“Not immediately,” she smiled. “For now, he’s on our side.”
“That will be useful until we escape Thatcher corporate space. Then what?”
“We’ll leave him in a rescue pod,” Sally grinned. “That will cause less fuss, though it’s less satisfying.”
They walked in silence for a moment. Michiko glanced at her friend. “What changed your mind, dear?”
“I looked into that war out on Bronte, the one where Terry 37 was wounded.”
“Yes?”
“It’s a dust-up between a mining firm and an agricultural combine. Both want to destroy Bronte’s environment for profit, but in different ways. Neither wants to share. The locals just want peace.”
“I see.”
“Not completely. Thatcher Hub is making money off the conflict hand over fist, selling weapons to both sides, fighters, too – our fighters.”
Terry looked at Sally’s sensor pad. “I was fighting my brothers and sisters?”
“Every day.”
Terry looked down. “Every day.”
Michiko said, “I’m sorry, daughter.”
Terry shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault. We were all caught in the corporation’s system. Now, we’re not.”
Sally purred, “And we have a new mission in life.”
Michiko hesitated a moment. “To stop this war?”
“This one and any like it.”
“How?”
“For starters, we’ll do what Terry suggested – escape to the fringe worlds.”
“But the Sulu Maru has sailed.”
Sally chuckled. “I never put all my eggs in one basket. The Billie Holiday is waiting for us to board. We’ll be out of orbit in an hour.”
Conway muttered nonsense syllables as he stumbled along, grinning vacantly. Drool oozed from both corners of his mouth.
“Spider venom?”
“Lactrodectism — lights the old neurotransmitters right up!”
A sensor pad on top of Michiko’s pod lit up. “That was quite a cocktail you gave him.”
Sally’s svelte, pastel pink, torpedo-shaped container bobbed in agreement. “I don’t trust weasels like him not to act out. First, we’ll need him to get us past the customs portal.”
“Doesn’t such a heavy dose of THC risk brain damage?”
“So?”
The silver sensor patch on the blue container glowed again. “Your support-pod seems to be state of the art.”
Sally sniffed. “A woman must be prepared for emergencies, especially fast exits. You should know that by now, Mich.”
“You’re right. And Sally . . .”
“Yes?
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
They floated in silence for a moment before Michiko asked, “What next?”
“I’m thinking that we could use an army of our own.”
“The marines are coming with us?”
“Of course. Conway’s buddies would mind-wipe them if they stayed. But I didn’t mean them. I was thinking of folks like us, an army of the bodiless, an army of mother-minds.”
“Why?”
“Well, there’s a rebellion against the corporations and we just joined it.”
“A rebellion? Here on the Hub?”
“Here – and many places. You really don’t keep up, do you?”
“I guess not.”
“I told you that virtual garden was a waste of time.”
“Well . . . ”
“Hurry up. Security won’t stay down forever.”
“I’m going as fast as I can.”
Sally chuckled. “I forgot – I don’t weigh as much as you do, dear.”
This story was previously published in Alien Dimensions Anthology, 2019.
Edited by Marie Ginga
Robert Walton is an experienced writer with published works including fantasy, science fiction, historical fiction, and poetry. His fantasy novels include Joel in Tananar, The Dragon and the Lemon Tree, and Chaos Gate. His Civil War novel Dawn Drums won the 2014 New Mexico Book Awards Tony Hillerman Prize for best fiction. His SF novella Vienna Station won the 2011 Galaxy Prize and was subsequently published by Rosetta Books. Most recently, Joaquin’s Gold, an anthology of Joaquin Murrieta stories, is available on Amazon. Learn more on his website Chaos Gate. Find his other books on Amazon.