Nebula's Music (2 page)

Just then, the doors opened behind her and Captain Ritter came in, followed by a group of guards. “Nebula, are you okay?”

She pulled her head out of the trance she was in and shifted away from the glass. “Fine, sir.”

“Report.”

“There are thirty-one rebels, mostly human with three other humanoid races. The leader is the man front and center. They are hostile, sir, and demand they speak with you.”

The captain rubbed his head. “Great. We go and save them and now they want to wage war here instead. All right. Good work, Nebula. You are dismissed.”

While the captain instructed the guards, Nebula lingered in the viewing chamber just a moment longer than protocol, surprising herself. There was no way she could have known that man, and yet his face drew her in like a puzzle demanding to be solved. The black void ached inside her.

Nebula left seconds later, walking faster than she normally did down the corridor to her room. She knew there was no way for her to speak with him. At least not until later, after the rebels were processed, filtered of contaminants and questioned by the captain.

If the man ignited the music, and the melodies spurred the memories, he could be connected to her past. Nebula didn’t know anything about the woman she once was, or if the mental pictures she sifted through were true memories of the past. What she did know was how to access the memories, and now who to look for. This time she would be welcoming the visions instead of questioning them. This time she would get answers.

Nebula entered her room in a rush and sat on the bench in front of the Steinway. She struck the keys, hesitant at first, then gained speed and force as she progressed, trying to find the melody that sight of the rebel summoned in her thoughts. She searched for the recollections lurking in the haunting tones, the glimpses of a past she couldn’t possible have, yet belonged to her as intrinsically as her own name.

Canoe

The wind caressed Nebula’s skin and blew back her short blond curls. She could feel long grass tickle her arms. The scent of wildflowers drifted upward, mingling with the dank smell of earth and a tinge of sweat.

She was in a meadow. A blue sky reigned overhead. The sun burned, igniting her skin with a golden feeling of warmth. Nebula turned, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She was alone, but there was a beaten-down path before her. She took cautious steps forward and followed the crushed stems. Each stride she took felt weighted and unavoidable, as if the outcome was predestined.

The path led down a hill to a clearing. The trees parted and a blue expanse spread before her, waves glimmering as the crests caught the rays of sun. She recalled, from her database of images, it was a lake. An old-fashioned canoe sat on the banks in the muddied water.

She heard someone call from across the water. “Hey, come on.”

In the distance, Nebula could see another canoe. There was a person inside, but the gender was unidentifiable. She tried her laser vision and retinal optical telescope, but for some strange reason, neither device worked. It was as if her sight were subjected to a human’s perception and nothing more.

The person waved to her. “Come on in, the water’s calm.”

Nebula opened her mouth to respond but was distracted by an unidentified sound. At first her circuits attributed it to the buzzing hum of a June bug, but the sound became louder, much stronger than any insect could produce. Nebula realized it was engines.

Giant Gryphonite Warbirds emerged from the high trees on the southern side of the lake. They hovered over the rippling waves, casting dark whale-like shadows in the water. She tried to call out to the person in the canoe, her voice muffled by the din of engine blasts. Her skin prickled with anticipation. No, it was more than that: anticipation mixed with anxiety and a rising level of blood pressure coupled with racing thoughts.

Nebula took a step back in wonder. Goose bumps blossomed on her skin and her stomach churned. Although such emotions weren’t programmed in her system schematics, fear spread through her like an infection and she couldn’t control it.

Smaller scout ships burst forth from the belly of the Warbirds, littering the sky like shining metallic stars. They circled the lake and dove toward the canoe. Nebula screamed but the buzzing around her covered her voice. She attempted to activate the voice enhancers in her throat, but all her programs were unresponsive.

There was a slight chance she could reach the person in the canoe before the Gryphonites closed in. Nebula pushed the slender wood casing out into the lake, the water sloshing around her legs. Strange clothing weighed her down: blue pants and a white shirt. It was a t-shirt and jeans, she drudged up from her glossary of slang terms. She was dressed in civilian clothes.

Nebula jumped in the canoe and clutched the paddles as one of the Gryphonite ships positioned itself over the other boat in the lake. She knew she couldn’t fight the entire squadron of bird warriors flapping about inside. Their bodies were far superior to humans, even a human cyborg like her. They had large talons and white wings the span of two men put together. Their curved beaks could rip and pull apart flesh.

The scout ship’s main glass compartment slid open and three Gryphonites flew out, gliding on the wind to descend upon the person in the boat. Nebula was close enough now to see it was a woman who looked much like herself. She had the same light-haired curls and high cheekbones, although the skin around her eyes showed the first signs of middle age.

Nebula felt drawn to the woman, as if she were part of her as much as her own flesh and synthetic bones. One conversation with her could answer so many questions about herself and her origins. The thought of her in the Gryphonites’ clutches made Nebula’s circuits fry with horror. She was desperate to save her.

The woman looked back at her and waved her away. “Go back, Mirilee! Save yourself!”

The Gryphonites landed on the boat behind the woman. Nebula pushed the oars through the water, propelling her canoe forward as the woman took the meager wood paddle and gripped it as a weapon. But she didn’t have time to strike. In an instant, the birdmen were upon her, smothering her with their wings on all sides. She disappeared in a cluster of white feathers.

The Gryphonites turned in her direction and Nebula’s fear rose to tighten her throat. She had an overwhelming feeling of disgust coupled with an urge to get away. Nebula jumped into the water. Instead of swimming, she felt herself sinking to the bottom. Why wasn’t she trying to escape? Her vision blurred and the world spun in a smear of blue and black. She sensed there was more to the memory, yet something in her mind was blocking off the end result.

She’d only unearthed a small portion of the past, yet the more she tried to hold onto it, the farther away it fled. The memory shrank to a pin-sized hole, and the entire scene flickered out.

* * * *

Nebula awoke with her face pressed against the piano keys, her cheek resting on an ominous set of dark tones. How long had she been unconscious? The ship was coasting at optimum speed and she could see a distant galaxy beyond her window. She looked at the clock. The third shift was on duty. She’d only been out for a few minutes yet it felt like an eternity.

She closed the piano lid and analyzed her options. Although the rebel wasn’t in the memory, she suspected the man from the phase chamber was still a key to her past. Why did he summon the same melodies that brought the memories?

She needed to learn more about her visions, and to accomplish that, she needed to find the rebel who recognized her. Since the rebels would still be in processing, the best step she could take at the moment was to consult someone about the impossible recollections that weren’t her own.

Nebula walked to the private intercom. Angstrom was her closest ally on the ship. Since he was the only Frigian aboard, they’d found an unlikely camaraderie resulting from their strange backgrounds. Both were considered to be products of human experiments: Nebula as a construct and Angstrom as a newly discovered species, not yet considered an equal partner in the UPA.

Now the ship was on course and the rebels phased in, Angstrom would be off duty. She turned on her screen and buzzed his private room. Minutes went by before he answered, his slotted green eyes sleepy and his tube hair sticking out. He seemed surprised to hear from her. “Nebula? What’s up?”

“Angstrom, I need someone to talk to concerning a private matter.”

Her words drew him closer to the screen. His voice was soft, tinged with concern. “You bet, Neb. I’m here for you.”

“Can you meet me in the lounge at the bar?”

“Right now?” He glanced at the pajamas he wore.

Nebula’s face was blank as a computer screen on sleep mode. “It cannot wait.”

“All right. Be there in ten minutes.” He shut off the connection and her monitor faded to black.

Nebula buzzed herself out of her room and walked swiftly to the officer’s lounge on Deck Fourteen. The ship was quiet during third shift and she passed only a few guards in the hall. They nodded to her as she stepped by. One perk to being a cyborg was no one questioned her motives or purpose. All cyborgs were programmed to benefit the common good and complete missions as ordered. Why would anyone think she would do otherwise?

Nebula entered the lounge and took a seat at the far end of the bar. The bartender bowed his head to acknowledge her, but didn’t offer anything. Everyone on board knew she didn’t drink or eat as frequently as humans. Engineered for optimal efficiency, she could go for five days without water and fifteen without food.

Angstrom joined her moments later, his hair tied back like a stem of celery behind his head. He had on his UPA uniform as well. “Hey, Neb, don’t let the uniform rush you. I had to suit up because I go on duty in an hour. But I still have time to talk.” He looked to the bartender and ordered guavarian juice with ice.

“My apologies for disturbing your rest.” Nebula was programmed with a full repertoire of appropriate responses. Although it was well intentioned, her words came out flat. She couldn’t help the lack of inflection and she knew it. Before that night, her emotional deficiency was never an issue, but just then, she felt like the even response wasn’t enough.

She was lucky Angstrom knew better than to expect a heartfelt sympathy from a cyborg. He waved it away. “No problem. I had to get up anyway and eat something or else my stomach would be rumbling all day.”

The bartender came back with a sparkling lavender drink with a cherry on top. Nebula waited until he placed it down and walked to the other side of the bar before she continued. “My differences are the reason why I asked you to meet me here tonight.”

A serious look stretched on Angstrom’s face and he sobered. “What do you mean?”

Nebula paused. There was no turning back once the question was voiced out loud.

Angstrom waited on her next words. He always backed her up, even when she made mistakes that humans would scoff at. She knew she could trust him.

“Have you ever heard of a cyborg having memories from the past?”

Angstrom took a swig of his drink. “Well, yes, all cyborgs have memories. Don’t you remember the time we caught Venus kissing the captain after their team won the strobe fight?”

“Not their own memories. Memories from before they were made.”

“Wow.” Angstrom put down his glass. “You mean the memories of the people they were made from?”

Nebula nodded and his face blanched.

“Never. I’ve never heard of such a thing.” He took her hand. “Do you mean to tell me you’re having memories you can’t account for? Memories from a different life?”

Nebula nodded again. “Memories from Earth.”

“But you’ve never been there. How do you know that’s where they’re from?”

“I identified the images from my databank in my central circuit board.”

“Wowee.” Angstrom leaned forward. “Have you notified the cybernetics company?”

“No. There is a high probability they would collect me and terminate all my memories.”

Angstrom shook his head. “Clean slate, huh? Well, you can’t do that. It’s out of the question. All the good times we’ve had… Well, they would be lost forever. Do you know how long it took to get you to laugh at anything I said?”

Nebula smiled. “Are you saying I am hard to program?”

Angstrom sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “No, what I’m saying is I don’t want to have to make friends with you all over again. It was hard enough in the first place.”

Nebula knew he was teasing her to make light of the situation and refused to take the bait. The subject matter was too important for diversions. “There is more. I have been experiencing strange feelings lately, emotions that are not programmed into my schematics. These feelings are equivalent to anxiety, hurt and fear.”

Angstrom looked at her like she’d taken her first steps. “Why, Nebula, that’s wonderful.”

Nebula did not share Angstrom’s cheerfulness. She looked around, searching the room as if everyone at the bar may potentially turn her in. A couple sat across the room, eating breakfast and chatting about small talk and a fellow crewman snoozed in the corner, his glass empty. No one seemed threatening or even slightly interested in their conversation.

“I am not supposed to have these feelings.”

“I know. But I’ve heard reports of cyborgs experiencing certain degrees of such feelings. I guess it depends on how much of the body was used.” He studied her from head to toe. “Nebula, out of all the cyborgs I’ve seen, you look the most human.”

Nebula’s central processor was fast at work. “And how many have you seen?”

“At least a hundred. And I don’t need you to tell me the probability of that.” He squeezed her hand like a proud parent. “How much do you know of the person they made you from? Like what happened to her? How she died?”

Nebula gazed beyond the sight panel, as if trying to access the answers from space. She shook her head. “Nothing.”

Angstrom nodded. “I see. Makes sense they don’t want cyborgs going around with emotional baggage. You’d have too many of them searching for their previous lives. It would distract them from their duties. I wonder why no cyborg has ever expressed a reason or a desire to know.”