She did not have time to consider it further as particles twirled in the phase chamber below her like dust motes in the sun. The people in the rebel freighter were being channeled onto their ship. Nebula estimated thirty or so beings and waited patiently until their forms solidified.
As their bodies came into clarity, she identified mostly humans and a few other closely related life forms. They all wore the bold red streak of the rebel defenders on a sash across their chests and were equipped in blast-proof vests with laser holsters at their sides. Thank goodness Angstrom had filtered out the weapons.
They were not happy to be brought on board without their consent. A young, punk-styled rebel beat his fist in the air. “Hey, what’s going on?”
A woman with flaming pink hair and tattered fishnet sleeves snarled at the viewing box. “What do you think we are? Tourists?”
Nebula took the intercom in her hands. Her bland, ambivalent voice was perfect for such hostile situations. “Remain calm. We of the Flightship Freedom have saved you all from certain and immediate slavery under the claws of the Gryphonites.”
She felt the deck move underneath her feet, not from a blast but from the propulsion into optimum flight speed. Oso must have maneuvered the vessel out of the blast zone. Coldhearted as he was, he was an excellent navigator. Nebula logged the time and the tactics used. Her probabilities had all proven correct.
The rebel punk looked at her through the glass. “I demand to speak with your captain.”
Nebula pegged him as their leader and continued in her monotone voice. “Captain Ritter will be with you in a moment. Right now we need to determine if anyone requires medical assistance.”
“What we need are some answers,” the rebel leader called back, “and a real person to speak to, not some walking corpse.”
Nebula felt the sting of the slight like the first time she’d felt cold water hit her face. The crew members of the Flightship Freedom had always treated her with respect, but these people were flagrant outlaws with cutthroat reputations. They were civilians who’d decided to take matters in their own hands, not trained professionals like those around her. She blinked a few times, bit her lip and remained silent. She had no programmed response for discourtesy.
The retorts came at her in a wave of curses and accusations, forcing her to shut off the intercom and silence the voices in the room below. Their arguments were beyond her hands now. She pressed the button to the control deck. “Captain, you are needed in the phase chamber immediately.”
Nebula tried to control the rush of the strange new feeling and catalog it as it coursed through her. It was the bitter slap of prejudice. She wanted to understand the roots of the vagabonds’ discrimination. Scanning the crowd, she studied their features and every gesture, as if they were a different species.
The pink-haired woman huffed and sat against the wall, crossing her tattooed arms over her legs. Behind her a man emerged from the crowd, stealing Nebula’s attention. He had dark features like a Romanian gypsy and large blue eyes tinged with sadness. While the others were aggressive and bloodthirsty, this man possessed an inner tranquility, as if his fate was already decided and he was a reluctant passenger along for the ride.
Although he had the punk appearance, with his black hair spiked and dyed in cobalt highlights and an outlander’s cloak, Nebula could sense that more was lurking underneath the rough facade. As her gaze took him in, a wistful melody echoed in her mind. Every line in his face spurred another note, as if he were somehow connected to her music. Nebula shook her head, but the soaring sounds came back, insistent. She resisted the urge to turn away.
It was impossible yet there he was, staring back at her as if he recognized her. His face changed from fierce defiance to shock. He pushed through the other rebels. When he was just feet below the viewing room, he looked up, mouthed a word that began with an “m” sound and held up his hand, as if reaching for his own salvation.
Nebula’s finger hovered over the intercom speaker. If she turned it back on, maybe she could hear what he was saying.
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.
Chapter 2
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,