The cargo bay stretched ahead of me as a vast and hollow space, its climate systems producing currents of air that were noticeably cooler than the rest of our voidhold. I stood beside Mother, holding her datapad while she supervised the unsealing of Larkin's shuttle.

  Once inside, the sleek black craft seemed to absorb the light. Its hull still bore traces of its passage as delicate patterns of streaks.

  "You must be eager to show us what you've brought," Mother said to Larkin, her voice honey-sweet.

  Larkin's face remained neutral. The previous night with Rashala seemed to have left him weary. "The items should meet with your approval," he said quietly.

  "I'm sure they will." Mother's smile widened as she gestured to the functionaries. "Brons, ensure a proper meal is prepared for later. Our new son will need to replenish his strength after his duties."

  I maintained my practised pose of inattention, but I noted how Larkin's throat moved in a suppressed swallow. At the cargo bay's perimeter, PQ9 stood motionless, a brooding presence that weighed on Larkin's mind. His movements had become more contained and cautious the moment it had walked in.

  "Begin the unsealing," Mother commanded.

  The functionaries approached the shuttle's locks. As the cargo hold irised open, they began removing containers, arranging them in rows on the bay floor. Some were small enough for single functionaries to handle, while others required coordinated pairs working in sync.

  "Fascinating," Mother murmured as the collection grew. She turned to me. "Shade, you will inspect and record the contents. The markings can only be read by human eyes."

  I moved forward with measured steps, datapad ready. The containers bore markings in a variant of our normal script, but the characters seemed to shift when viewed directly, containing subtle variations that mechanical eyes were unable to read. Most were straightforward labels that stated the contents.

  Medical Supplies. Raw Carbon. Technical Components.

  Then I reached a box that made me pause. It was unremarkable in itself, but as I approached it, Larkin made a small gasp, a sharp inhale. I studied the box’s markings. Though covered in the same sheen that blocked functionary vision, they were different. I recognized fragments of maintenance notation that Oren sometimes checked. Pieces of diagrams that looked like voidhold architecture. Below that was some faded text.

  Access Module Type-F, Independent Protocol

  I glanced at Larkin. His face remained impassive, but his eyes gleamed.

  I knew the silent language of eyes. This was a plea.

  Looking down at the markings again, I made my fingers move across the datapad and wrote Valve Components. It was just a false description, nothing more.

  It was my first-ever lie.

  "Everything appears to be in order," I said, keeping my voice flat and administrative.

  "Excellent." Mother took the datapad from me. "Have it all moved to storage. We shall examine the shipment properly in due course." She turned to Larkin, radiating satisfaction. "A most impressive dowry. Though of course, nothing compared to the mass we've given up. Our turret was among the finest the voids have ever seen."

  "You have been most generous," Larkin replied, still watching me.

  I observed as the functionaries began transporting the containers. The box I had mislabeled disappeared into the stream of identical containers, its secret submerged in the flow of ordinary cargo. The only trace of its passage was the slight relaxation in Larkin's shoulders.

  "Come," Mother said to Larkin. "Brons will have your meal ready." Her smile carried sharp edges. "We mustn't keep Rashala waiting."

  ?

  I lay in my quarters, sleep eluding me. The day's events kept replaying in my mind, particularly that moment with the box. I had never before altered information given to Mother, never deviated from pure observation and obedience.

  Why had I done it? I thought about this again and again.

  Had it been the way Larkin stood, every fiber engaged in the effort of showing nothing?

  Had it been Mother's satisfied smile when he had been forced to endure her subtle barbs?

  Helping him had been dangerous. If Mother discovered my deception, or if Yeller realised what I'd done...

  I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, listening to the functionaries' clicking through the walls as they worked on their nighttime routines. Oren would come round for the evening check of our sleep patterns. Its gentle hand would guide me back into a comfortable position and it would tell me it was time to rest.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Perhaps by then I would have convinced myself that my small act of rebellion meant nothing. Soon, I began to drift into sleep.

  Then, in the distance, I heard the tread of a functionary approaching. It startled me into full consciousness because the sound was wrong. Sharper and more aggressive than Oren's familiar step. It was faster, too, in a hurry.

  My heart raced.

  A shadow fell across my bed. I sat up and saw PQ9 looming in the doorway, blocking the dim light of the corridor's night-cycle. The functionary's red eyes in its club-like face were focused on me, and their intensity made my skin crawl.

  I took a steadying breath. It was just a functionary in an unfamiliar environment. It just needed guidance, that was all.

  "Good evening," I said. "Do you need a human-present?"

  "The box," it said, its harsh, grating voice pitched low. "What did it contain? What did you read?"

  I blinked slowly. "Which box? There were many boxes today."

  PQ9 lunged forward, and one hand shot out, taking my shoulder, forcing me to my feet. Its grip was designed to cause immense pain, putting pressure on nerve clusters.

  "The box marked as valve components," it said. "What were the markings? What did they say?"

  I kept my face blank, my body loose despite the agony. Years of practice made it easy to project confusion. "I don't know. I wrote everything down. Mother has the datapad."

  "You changed something." PQ9's grip tightened even further, drawing a small cry from me. "What did you hide?"

  "I don't understand," I said. "I just wrote what I saw. The functionaries couldn't read it, and I complied. That is all I did."

  "You are lying." The words came out like static. Its other hand reached for my throat, metal fingers extending. "You will tell me what—"

  There was a blur of motion behind PQ9 as Oren burst through the doorway.

  "Protocol violation," said Oren. "Cease contact with Shade."

  PQ9 responded in a stream of clicks.

  "If you do not cease contact," said Oren, "I will initiate violence."

  Another set of clicks, but this time PQ9 didn't finish because Oren slammed into it with force, unbalancing it slightly.

  PQ9 shrieked and tossed me aside, against the wall. Pain exploded through my arm as a bone snapped. Then it took hold of Oren's head.

  "She is non-compliant," it said.

  "You will–" Oren began, but PQ9 just gave a hard shove, pushing it put into the corridor. Then it marched outside. There was a heavy clash, the sound of breaking, whining servos, and metal scraping against metal.

  "You will...will.." Oren's voice was wrong. High and stuttering.

  PQ9's response was a high-pitched scream of feedback that made my ears ring. Hugging my arm close, I inched towards the door. Beyond it, PQ9 had one foot on Oren's crumpled form, its hands once more gripping my functionary's head.

  "No," Oren said, and it twisted, parts of its body turning as it tried to kick PQ9, but the slender torso was well beyond reach.

  Then, with another shriek and the crack of components giving way, PQ9 tore Oren's head off, crushing it. Oren's hand, designed for precision and support, fell out towards me, the delicate mechanisms exposed.

  "No." The word slipped from me.

  PQ9 turned to me and took my arm again. I screamed with pain as it pulled me up, bringing my face right up close to its sensors.

  "Tell me," it said. "What was your lie? What is in the box?"

  I whimpered, knowing that I did not have the ability to fight it. This thing, this functionary, had strength beyond my comprehension. I was just a human. In all my years, I had never seen functionaries use violence. They maintained order through presence and protocol. This was something else. Destruction incarnate.

  Then its head exploded. Metallic shards clipped my forehead and PQ9 crumpled, pulling me down with its grip on my arm.

  "Shade. Move away from the danger."

  I looked up, blinded by tears and blood. It was Yeller, its eye blazing white, holding a long pole with a glowing tip. Behind it came Redd, who bent to release my arm from PQ9's grip.

  "Oren?" I asked, my voice breaking. I strained to look past Redd, at the mess beneath the exploded parts of PQ9.

  “What is this?” Mother's voice came cutting through the chaos. "Oh, how tiresome. Such a mess. Shade? What have you done, you stupid girl?"

  I recognized a piece of Oren’s hand and reached for it.

  "What is this shameful display?" Mother snapped. "Control yourself Shade."

  I tried to straighten, to resume my role, but my body wouldn't obey. Tears soaked my veil as I watched other functionaries gather around Oren's broken form.

  "Crying over a machine?” Mother said. “Good riddance to it.”

  I finally looked up, words on my tongue that I could not speak. Mother wore her grim face. Behind her stood Rashala, clad only in a thin shift, her hair wild, her eyes wide with fascination. Beside her was Larkin, barefoot and shirtless.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  When he saw for himself the remnants of PQ9, relief flooded his face and he grabbed Rashala, pulling her close. My sister melted into his embrace.

  "Yeller, see to this mess," Mother commanded. "And have Redd examine Shade for injury." Her voice hardened. "Then find out what she did.” She turned to Larkin, who was still holding Rashala. "I trust this won't disrupt your task?"

  "No, Lady Mira," he replied, his arms tightened around my sister. "All will proceed as discussed."

  I watched the functionaries carry away a pile made of Oren and PQ9, and then I stood and went with Redd.

  ?

  The next morning in the thren, things were strangely normal. I sat at the table and looked at an empty plate, numb after a night of listening to Yeller shout at me and flash its lights while I said nothing.

  "I was in the garden this morning," Mother observed, her voice carrying the sharp edge of satisfaction. "It was looking particularly fine. It appears that Turq has adjusted the growth patterns.” She took a sip of her meal before continuing. “Sometimes change is necessary for improvement."

  I kept my eyes carefully blank. Rashala glanced at us, sensing undercurrents but missing their meaning.

  "Shade," My sister said suddenly. "Come look at what Larkin brought me from Voidhold Four." She held up a delicate crystalline structure that caught the light. "Isn't it beautiful?"

  Before I could respond, heavy footsteps interrupted. A functionary I barely knew – Magent – stood in the doorway.

  "Come here, Shade," it said. "It is time for morning rounds."

  I moved toward it automatically, but my steps faltered when its metal fingers closed around my upper arm, now healed by Redd. Its grip was exactly as firm as protocol required. Just enough pressure to guide without marking.

  Technically perfect.

  Oren would have offered its hand first, would have waited for me to accept its guidance, would have matched its pace to mine with the understanding born of countless morning walks. Magent pulled me forward at a pace that made my breathing irregular. When we reached the first junction, it didn't pause to let me adjust my stride for the uneven floor.

  At the first control panel, its voice was flat, emotionless. "Shade, please agree that we should perform voidhold positioning."

  The words were correct, but the rhythm was wrong. Like someone reading from a manual without understanding the dance of permissions and protocols that had evolved between Oren and me over years of careful observation.

  "I agree," I said quietly, the familiar words tasting like ash.