“We’ve tried. We cannot flee out of their reach, for the enemy is more widespread than us. The Saints themselves know there is no Sanctuary star to be had, so the legend that a generation ship in our past vowed to look for one is nothing more than that: legend. We cannot call out to the Neána for help, even if they still exist, because to do so would betray our position to the enemy. We are alone, and their hunt is inexorable. Our only hope is to spread our generation ships wide and one day to turn and fight. Look it up; the files are open to you now. All the files. Principal Jenner authorized it. We don’t even know how many humans have died or been taken trying to achieve that noble goal. All we have left now is our crusade to defend the human race. To destroy an enemy so relentless that this whole galaxy is unsafe.”
“You can’t be certain we’ll win.”
“Of course we can’t. But we are striving to create the greatest army our science and technology can produce. This is my project. We’ve worked hard to achieve this level of success. If we fail, it will not be from weakness.”
“Congratulations. And when does my boost begin?”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“You’re very confident about our empathy with the muncs, aren’t you?”
“Yes. However, your muncs’ neurology is slightly different from those in the boys’ cohorts. They’ll be your filters.”
“Yes, but only when you’ve ripped their brains out and wired them up to gentens as peripherals.”
“I don’t have to.”
“What?”
“The physical aspect…It’s not strictly necessary. It’s what they’ve learned that is important. The thought routines they’re using today are the priceless result of sixteen years of your bonding. Think of it. When you finally go up against the enemy, you’ll be receiving hundreds of signals from the squads at the moment of greatest conflict. Even your mind can’t absorb that much information, no matter how good the direct neural connection boost we give you. You have to filter and prioritize. That’s where the munc routines come in, providing a preliminary analysis and grading requests for your attention. The genten will use that interpretive ability to generate the right assessment for you.”
“If the gentens are that good, then you don’t need us.”
“You know why we need you. Principal Jenner explained that. There has to be a human in the loop—not just for trust, but for intuition, too. We were all so proud of you at the crash site, the way you questioned your situation. None of us were expecting that.”
“Bravo me.”
“Look, if you are genuinely too fond of Uma and Doony to see this happen, I can download their thought routines and run them in a simulated munc neurology within the genten. Their brains have the facility for that built in.” Sie smiled, searching for approval. “Would you like that?”
Yirella’s shoulders slumped. “You really have thought of everything.”
“I try. But I know I’m not as good as you.”
“All right. I’ll let you know.”
—
Yirella woke up as the dawn chorus of birds began to seep across the estate. She lay in bed for a while, allowing her eyes to adjust to the weak pastel light that seeped through the reed blinds she’d chosen for her bedroom windows. Dellian was lying on the mattress beside her, sprawled on his chest, still sleeping. She looked at his pale body, seeming so childishly small on her long mattress, trying to hold her emotions back. Today was the day he was going to the medical facility for his first boost.
It was the day she was going to lose him. She knew he would still adore her, and she him, but what he was would be changed. No more of a change than every other day they devoted to training, to exploring a new tactical game, or spent in class learning about another weapon. Every day changed them; she acknowledged that readily enough. But this was a physical change underscoring his outlook. Today he would be claimed by inevitability.
He was definitely going to join the war. It was what he’d always wanted, the noblest cause a human could undertake in these strange times. His life was to be dedicated to salvation for all of them. He dreamed of it. He lived for it. And she would never try to stop him.
But that didn’t make his choice any less painful for her.
Last night she’d clung to him with a passion that had surprised him as much as he’d been physically delighted. He’d asked if anything was wrong. And as they strained against each other on the bed, she’d clutched him tighter. “There could never be anything wrong with this,” she’d promised him lustfully.
She’d been as energetic and enthusiastic as he’d ever known. Fulfilling every sexual craving wasn’t just for his benefit. Her final time with her original beautiful Dellian deserved such an intimate celebration, locking the perfect memory for an age to come when she’d need it most. Then, after even his stamina had been exhausted, she’d cried silently while he slept.
This morning, she determined, there would be no tears. That was her change. Her choice.