Page 42 of The Commander

“Far out. This thing’s a mystery wrapped in an enigma. No markings, but there’s a whole posse out there with the same groove. Heavy, Dude. Looks like something from Derametes of Cersa. Derametes kicked it twenty Earth years ago.”

Kicked it?“Clarify yourself.”

“Kicked the bucket, tossed the tube, evaporated the skin suit.”

“Died?”

“Took the stairway to heaven. All records of his designs floated into the ether along with him. No record of the blade at all. It does appear that the other four blades by this designer are still with their owners.”

Despite several attempts to refine the P.I.’s language, it still insisted onridiculousas its primary choice. Bastian took a deep breath and counted to five. “Where are those owners?”

“Not in this solar system, at least, not since my last proper download. I don’t noodle that there is any devious kind of connection with this Derametes, but those blades also have the crazy rad stylized thorns. One has a delivery system for kar’nac poison. That designer was a freakin’ spaz, Dude.”

“How is it possible there is no record of the blade? Can’t you read its embedded information?”

“I spy with my little eye, nothing. Dude, I’m telling ya, it’s like taking an image of a random human fingerprint. If there ain’t no record connecting it to a blood sample or a face, no eyes on that info. This blade belongs to a prime commander that doesn’t exist.” Bastian breathed out instead of snorting in disbelief at the notion.

“However, it has recently been felt up fine and dandy by yourself, a human male and a human female. It looks like RH-V 56983, 56541, and RH-Y 48001 also carried it. Where is the human female?”

That wouldn’t do. Connecting Kitten to the blade could be dangerous. “How do I clean the blade of all evidence that it was touched by me or a human?”

“You can clean it using anti-gellen for you and the red hats. But the human data is instantly recorded. Ohhh, freaking awesome, Dude.”

Bastian waited for the apparent, “freaking awesome.”

The P.I. made an exaggerated noise of surprise. “Ha. Looks like there is a supreme pizza of human samples.”

“What do you mean?”

“People have passed this blade around more than a joint at a Grateful Dead show, and the information has become ingrained like a bad batch of cannabis. Blood’s been all over it, inside it, Dude, and there’s no way to rewind. There are interesting skin traces from a chick, too. Recent. Where is she now?”

Bastian glared at the P.I. That was the wrong answer. Again. “Find details on dead, injured, or lost commanders who led on land forces.”

“That goes back hundreds of years. I gotta search the Land of the Lost and everything. There’s gonna be freaking sleestak in the way,” the P.I. complained.

Bastian recognized the reference to this planet’s ancient media, but he couldn’t guess at its meaning. “Do it.”

“Dude,” the P.I. replied flatly.

“Do it as quickly as possible.” He wished he could promise the P.I. death if it didn’t comply, but the thing wasn’t alive, and its deactivation was not in Bastian’s best interest.

Yet. There would come a day.

“But I haven’t shaken hands with your chick yet,” it wheedled.

“You will not be meeting the female.”

“Dude, no pressure, but I gotta check her health to make sure she’s, like, ready for the baby bump and all that. Iron levels. Folic acid? Vitamin D? Most people around here are paler than white acid wash jeans. She needs some serious sunshine vibes and a food court full of the good stuff to, like, nourish that potential pregnancy glow.”

Bastian gritted his teeth and balled his fists. He could not smash his personal interface.

“When is your next download scheduled?”

“Twenty-eight days, El Jefe. They skipped my previous download, and the one before that was nine days late. They are totally hanging ten on the tardiness. When do I meet the squeeze?”

Control’s priorities were built into the P.I.’s way of thinking. And of course, all the assholes who thought they directed Bastian’s life would want to know all about his new mate. They’d never miss the opportunity to use hismost vulnerable asset against him. He would not allow them to manipulate him or endanger her. That was a given. Unfortunately, he was certain that some big headed Sarrian scientist had developed a back channel breeding program for this planet using the ancient gene dump, and the P.I. had been ordered to collect information on any suspicious females.

The prime population at home suffered due to the lack of Sarrian brides willing to mate and attempt a bond. A prime needed to chase, conquer, and claim his mate. Years before Bastian’s birth, a cultural revolution took place on Sarria among all the compatible species females.

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