MORE THAN YOU KNOW

MORE THAN YOU KNOW 8 MINUTE READ

Marpesia Solange was the begrudging toast of the party. The brightest luminaries of 2576 raised their flutes of champagne to her, smiling tightly as she raised her hands for their attention. The building hosting the gala was half-nightclub, half-museum, balancing an open bar with a gallery of ancient Earth artifacts. Someone had spilled vodka on a case holding a crumbling leather breastplate and spear. People in tuxedos and sheath dresses traded barbs in front of framed pieces of pottery and yellowed pages of comic books. At the summit of two winding staircases stood Marpesia, resplendent in a metallic golden gown that glowed against her dark skin, hands and chin raised imperiously far above the crowd.

“Tonight,” she began, voice echoing throughout the massive hall thanks to the barely-there indicator light of a throat mic, “is the beginning of more than an army. It is the resurrection of a legend.”

Guests exchanged wry and amused looks. One woman leaned over to a man near her to whisper.

“It’s always something like this with Solange, isn’t it?” she said. He smothered a laugh behind his glass.

“Be kind,” he mumbled. “She didn’t qualify for psychic training with the Authority, so she’s got to keep herself busy somehow.”

Marpesia couldn’t hear them. She looked down on the assembly and her extensive collection with a victorious smile. “In this Golden Age, when Terran forces fan across lightyears of space pretending to rule, there seems no better time for such a resurrection. In a similar time of empires, a legendary people made art out of war. The Amazons.”

“Oh, here we go…” someone murmured. “Has anyone seen any costumed mercs hanging around?”

Someone else snorted. “No, unfortunately. Now that I think of it, I haven’t seen any real security. Maybe the heiress has finally pissed away all her daddy’s money…”

“The Amazons,” Marpesia continued, gesturing to the art and artifacts on display, “represented a pinnacle of human combat. A force few would reckon with, who defended their home and way of life with strength and versatility. Women who defied what the wider world said they should be and bowed to none. I must admit to a certain kinship with that way of life.”

More muffled snorts and amused looks. The thin veneer of civility warranted by the event was the only thing that kept everyone from laughing themselves sick and heading back to the new spaceport perched on this glorified asteroid Marpesia called a planet. That, and the bar. Marpesia studied the crowd.

“But the Amazons died,” she said, quieter. “So long ago most scholars can’t prove beyond a doubt they were ever real. Just a legend. An old idea. But modern technology allows us to breathe life into ideas. To resurrect a power history will never forget.”

A hush fell over her guests. Marpesia’s voice had dipped into a low, solemn register. More looks were exchanged, some anxious.

Marpesia smiled again. “With no further ado, Solange Enterprises is proud to present—”

Guests squawked and backed up as panels between exhibits opened and polished steel warframes stepped out. Eight top-of-the-line Nemesis armatures fell into formation, lamps a blinding blue, and shouldered their laser rifles in a salute. Behind them rose countless smaller frames, expert systems mounted in bodies made only to function as a mobile gun unit or melee combatant. Below Marpesia, still hanging above it all, what had looked like a decorative wall fixture began to glow, and the center retracted to show a massive camera lens.

“—the woman warriors renown through the ages, reborn.”

“Well,” whispered a pleasant and lightly accented woman’s voice from throughout the hall, “that’s quite a legacy to live up to, but I think we’ll manage it. Would you like me to activate the internal anti-personnel toxin emitters, Commander Solange?”

Dead silence in the hall. Marpesia laughed, and it echoed thanks to the throat mic.

“Oh, no, Hippolyta,” Marpesia chided. “These are our guests. It’s a party! I suppose you could say… it’s your birthday party.”

The camera in the wall fixture swiveled to look out over the crowd.

“Silly me,” the voice said. “Internal armaments: powering down.”

Thousands of lights flickered off throughout the hall, leaving it in a dreamy amber glow cast by decorative lamps. Someone dropped their flute of champagne in shock.

“Warminds, you know,” Marpesia drawled. “All knives and no napkins. She still has a way to go in the arena of social etiquette. Hippolyta, have one of your daughters bring that woman another glass. We haven’t even gotten to the toast.”

One of the Nemesis armatures holstered her laser rifle to delicately retrieve a champagne flute from a sideboard and bring it over to the startled guest.

“To power,” Marpesia intoned, eyes glowing a dull gold, raising a glass of her own, “and the women who wield it.”

“TO POWER,” the warframes chorused, raising their rifles in salute.

“To power,” Hippolyta whispered from a thousand hidden speakers.

“To power,” echoed the assembled guests, shaking hands holding up their flutes of champagne.

Marpesia left Hippolyta in charge of her guests after that. She snaked through halls hidden behind panels, up and up until she came out on a floor looking over the blasted surface of her planetoid and up at the dark, moonless sky. At the right angle, she could just see the shimmer of the terraforming dome. Window walls throughout the floor were thrown open. A cold, recycled air breeze moved through the space, over lounging areas and a commanding desk, and over a bed shrouded under a canopy.

“Oh-oh-four,” Marpesia called. “How was the party?”

Androktones-004 pulled back the curtains of the canopy bed to reveal the real Marpesia Solange, dressed in loose silk pajamas and cradling a cadged bottle of the 2453 vintage champagne being served far below. She yawned and gestured at her double, a precisely commissioned Echo armature.

“Mission report,” Androktones-004 began, kneeling on the edge of the bed. “Speech and interactions delivered according to pre-determined script. Audience reaction calculated at 73% fear, 26% awe, 1% fury. Personage estimated to be the most significant threat: Hyla Mos, competing arms dealer. Probability she will begin work on a retaliatory gesture: 82%.”

“Oh, I missed Hyla?” Marpesia mumbled. “I really should go to more of my parties…”

Androktones-004 pursed her lips. “Query…”

Marpesia pushed herself up on her elbows and gave the AI an indulgent grin. “Continue.”

“Why do you not?” Androktones-004 asked. Marpesia flopped back on her pillows and sighed. She took a long swig from the champagne bottle.

“I can’t deal with them,” Marpesia drawled. She let out a small burp. “They’ve been like frenzied animals since the day I turned seventeen. Wanting to murder me, then wanting to marry me… now back to murder.”

“Internal and external armaments reduce the possibility of a successful homicide by 98.3%,” Androktones-004 said, confused.

“Not literally kill me, just kind of…” Marpesia waved the bottle and the remaining wine sloshed. “Make me miserable because I have to talk to them like people. That’s why I have you. Well. You and your mother and your sisters.”

“This unit was commissioned for use in military engagements and as a personal escort to persons of import,” Androktones-004 recited. Marpesia laughed and beckoned her closer. They lay in bed together, the sheer material of the canopy fluttering over them in the artificial breeze, looking like facing apostrophes, like twins sharing a secret in the small hours of the morning. Marpesia reached out and patted Androktones-004’s cheek.

“Sure, you shoot alright, you scare the shit out of people,” she said. “But that’s the beauty of true sentience. Versatility in managing my problems.”

She tapped Androktones-004’s nose several times in quick succession as she sing-songed, “You. Can. Do. More. Than. You. Even. Know!”

They stared at each other for a second, Androktones-004 processing, Marpesia apparently enjoying being drunk. Then Marpesia gave her a hard slap. Androktones-004 blinked and sat up.

“Alright, good job pretending to be somebody,” Marpesia said. She drained the last of her champagne and pointed at her double with the empty bottle. “But go take this thing off. It’s creepy.”

“Acknowledged,” Androktones-004 said. “Will there be anything else, Commander Solange?”

Marpesia tossed the bottle at her. “Get rid of that and bring me a new one.”

“Not now,” Ennig groaned, stumbling out of the kitchen and past Rok. “Just— Either leave me alone or… find me another bottle.”

“ACKNOWLEDGED,” Rok said, stepping out of the way. Ennig winced and stumbled for his cabin. Rok held up the datapad with seventeen new messages. Notices from the port authority, demanding action on documents certifying liability and repair. Messages from vendors with offers for materials. Contractors offering services in every flavor— engine repair, systems restoration, upholstery. One encrypted message she hadn’t opened, addressed to him.

She watched Ennig disappear down the hall. The drunk sweat and fear sweat staining his shirt down the back. His sway, and the pieces of glass stuck in the bottoms of his boots. She stepped into the kitchen to find the broken bottles. There was no sound besides their crunching under her own feet. Everyone was asleep. She held up the datapad again.

“LOG IN USER: ENNIG MOORE,” Rok said. “PASSWORD: SEA SHANTY. BEGIN RESPONSE. SUBJECT: LIABILITY CLAIM. DEAR SIR SLASH MADAM SLASH HONORABLE PERSONAGE. REGARDING THE INCIDENT ON THE DATE OF…”

The only sound for the next few hours was Rok dictating messages, and the careful pinching of glass between the manipulation claws of a Nemesis armature followed by the tinkling the pieces made as they hit the inside of the sink.

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED JUNE 2016 | REHOSTED 2/27/2024