by Ran Vant
“What do you think, Private? Is this going to be the last treatment?” Sgt. Rosie Krantz asked.
“Are we playing at questions?”
“No, it’s a real question.”
“I’m not the Doctor, but it sure looks like he is healing up fast,” Maren commented as she knelt to apply the treatment. “The Doctor says we probably will be done with the cleaning treatments after this one, but he'll look him over one more time at least. My guess is Doctor P will say it will be up to his own body after this. After we're done with the treatments, the Doctor says we’ll need to start exercising him to prevent muscle atrophy.”
“I’m not even convinced his brain works, let alone worrying about his muscles,” Franklin thought aloud. “Why on earth do we need to have him walking around, anyway? I much prefer him tied to the ground. We should let his muscles atrophy to nothingness. It'd be safer for us, don't you think?”
“Look at him. He almost looks normal,” Maren observed. “It’s hard to imagine it’s one of the genbots that’s taken so many lives.”
“Without its armor, it doesn’t look like a killer,” Eve piped in. “He almost looks normal. What do you think, Maren? How tough does he look close up? Does it look like a killer?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. But how does one know what a killer looks like?”
“It’s a killing machine, make no mistake about that,” Gildur said. “Just because its circumstances have changed, it doesn’t change the fact of its origin and purpose. It's designed to kill. You guys all seem to have forgotten that fact, but I haven’t. That’s why I’m keeping the R-290 right here. In fact…” Gildur the Sergeant continued to drone on.
Maren tuned the sergeant out. Sergeant Gildur Stern didn’t talk all that much, but when he did, he tended to quickly wander off on some technical tangent. Now the Sergeant was going into the specs on one of his side arms. Maren muttered under breath to the still genbot, “You certainly don’t look like one of the Ancients' killers. And you certainly don’t look like a machine.” She paused for a moment, staring into his black eyes. “You don’t look like a killing machine, but I know you aren’t a human.”
“What am I then?” Michael asked.
“Oooawwk,” Maren screamed, as she jumped back from the tied down body.
Sergeant Gildur Stern raised his rail gun to his shoulder, Michael in his sights, “What is it?! What happened? Did it try to attack you?”
Maren stammered, trying to find her voice, “He… he talked!”
“What?! What did it say? Could you understand it?” The cacophony of questions erupted simultaneously from the assembled group, before settling into a silence as they waited for Maren to answer.
“He asked what he was,” she said, still staring into his eyes. Michael continued to stare back.
Again the chorus erupted with questions, “Do you think he has amnesia? What do you mean he asked what he was?” Then Sergeant Stern’s voice rose above the others and took charge.
“Maren, do we need to let you out?”
“Yes… No. Wait a minute.” Maren saw Michael blink, and just maybe his eyebrows moved. They stared at each other. She tried to see what was inside those orbs of blackness. “Everybody just be quiet. Let me try and talk to him some more.” Maren took a deep breath. Engage him. He wanted to know what he was. “Um, I’m Maren. Who are you?”
Michael stared into the blue eyes of the red haired woman, a mere trud, and after a long pause, replied, “I am Michael Lightbringer, Guardian of the West. For what purpose are you holding me?” Having asked a question, he expected an answer from the primitive. But this time, Michael was not encased in his black armor demanding answers from cowering truds. However, he was not yet accustomed to such circumstances.
“Um, we are… well, I don’t know exactly why we are holding you,” she answered.
“Don’t answer it!” the Sergeant commanded, as if the lowly private would have told the genbot all of the Natural Human Alliance’s secrets. But what Maren had said was in fact partially true. She had a general idea of a few portions of the plan, but didn’t know really why Michael was being kept captive, or rather, why he was being kept alive.
“Don’t you think we should call in the lieutenant?” Eve asked, the obvious not having occurred yet to any of the others. Those were the orders after all.
“Go ahead. In the meantime, leave the questioning to me,” Sergeant Gildur Stern commanded.
“Franklin, go get the lieutenant,” Eve commanded, since she didn’t want to miss any of it. Franklin outranked Eve, but he wasn’t the type of guy to disobey any order, no matter who it came from.
Now, the sergeant had his chance to show what he was capable of. He always thought he should be in intelligence rather than security, and now he’d have his first shot at wringing information out of the gargoyle. He knew other soldiers in the Natural Human Alliance who would kill for the opportunity. And he knew others who had died for the opportunity. He had dreamed about this chance ever since the operation was conceived. The sergeant puffed up his chest and moved closer to the bars. Raising his weapon back to his shoulder, began, “Gargoyle-,” before stopping abruptly. He turned toward Eve and whispered, “What was its name?”
“Michael, I think. Michael Lightbringer,” she responded.
“Lightbringer-,” Gildur began again before stopping just as abruptly. Now that he actually had a genbot gargoyle before him, he didn’t know what to say!
55.
Priorities
Outside of the make-shift security chamber, down the hall, in a room full of ancient looking document boxes, Lt. Carlitos shifted through the old notebooks. A slightly winded Franklin peeked his head into the room. Lt. Jacques ‘Jack’ Carlitos kept working. There was no time for distractions.
Franklin didn't say a word. He just looked at Jack, hoping the direct approach wasn't required. The lieutenant was digging through one of the boxes, as he had been for a long as Franklin had known him, searching for some piece of information. Franklin didn’t know what Jack was looking for or why he was looking for it. Personally, Franklin didn’t know why the lieutenant didn’t have all the paperwork scanned and then let the computers analyze it to look for whatever he was looking for. It would be infinitely more efficient. Franklin had thought about suggesting it, but the lieutenant wasn’t one who generally accepted suggestions, especially suggestions from Franklin. Besides that, Franklin knew he wasn’t even supposed to notice that Jack had been spending as much time in the room as he had been. He’d just get in trouble for asking why, let alone suggesting something. Nobody was allowed to ask why, but it was still obvious that the lieutenant seemed to be spending more and more time in there, presumably for some good reason. Franklin stomped down his curiosity and braced himself for the expected onslaught questioning why the lieutenant was being disturbed.
The lieutenant was ignoring him, so Franklin tentatively approached him, as Jack was engrossed in an old notebook binder. Technically, nobody besides the lieutenant was even supposed to have access to the room or ever enter it. And “nobody” definitely meant Franklin. Franklin could only imagine what Sergeant Stern was saying to the genbot now, and he knew he needed to tell the lieutenant what was going on with the gargoyle talking and all, but he wasn’t quite sure how to interrupt him. Thankfully, as he neared the desk, he didn’t have to.
Jack looked up to see Franklin over his desk. He quickly stuffed the binder and other papers back into the box out of view, while simultaneously berating Franklin. “I thought I made it clear that no one is supposed to-”
Quite uncharacteristically, out of nowhere really, Franklin interrupted, “Lieutenant, sir, he’s started talking.”
“What?” The question was equal parts not registering Franklin’s comment and being utterly astonished that Franklin had interrupted him mid-sentence.
“He’s started talking,” Franklin managed to utter quietly.
“Who?”
“The genbot, s
ir.”
“It’s been talking! Why didn’t somebody come in here and get me?!”
“Well, sir-”
“Never mind that! Hurry up and tell me: what’s it said?” Jack quizzed Franklin as he stuffed the rest of the papers on the desk into a box.
“So far, just his name.”
Jack walked swiftly to the door, Franklin in tow. “It has a name? Well, what is it?”
“Michael Lightbringer, sir.”
“Yes, of course. And what else did it say?” he asked as swiped his palm over the scanlock, securing the room with the old paper records.
“Sir, as I said, just his name. That’s all,” Franklin answered, trailing behind Jack as the lieutenant swiftly strode toward the chamber housing the genbot.
“That’s all?” Jack asked, turning his head for a moment to look at the diminutive Franklin, while still striding briskly onward, lengthening the gap between them.
Franklin gave a curt confirming nod. “That’s all. They decided to call you before they asked him any questions.” Franklin had to run every few steps now just to keep up.
“Hmph. I guess they aren’t all idiots,” he mumbled, not really under his breath, as he approached the holding chamber. Lt. Jacques Carlitos stopped before the door for a second, before again motioning his hand over a scanlock. “Let’s go…” And with that, he was through the door.
56.
Answers
“Genbot, my name is Lt. Jacques Carlitos. I am going to ask you questions, and I expect answers.” Jack confidently strode back and forth behind the iron bars. He went into what Maren called 'Lieutenant Mode' where he acted like he had all the answers and was in complete control. Maren recognized it for the fiction it was. Jack put on the show occasionally at work, especially (really only) in front of subordinates. Maren thought it was ridiculous on several levels, but she knew better than to call him out on it.
Jack stopped pacing and asked in a slow inquiring tone, as if he were asking a question he already knew the answer to: “Let’s talk about the Event, shall we?” Michael stared in silence at the wall beyond. “Do you understand what I am saying?” Jack asked, his tone indicating annoyance and increased questioning.
There was silence.
Then Jack hissed between clenched teeth, “You will answer my questions, or we will be making your stay with us very uncomfortable. Is that clear?”
Silence from the Genbot. Maren cringed.
Jack turned towards the usual assembled audience of Gildur, Rosie, Franklin, Eve, and Maren, “All right, is this some kind of joke?”
“No, sir,” they all replied, in one form or another.
“Come on, it’s not saying anything,” Jack said with a dismissive wave of his arm. He smiled and his shoulders drooped just a little. They were just messing with him. “Its brain was fried in the operation, just like we thought would happen.” He chuckled a little. “It’s just a vegetable now, right? You guys are pulling my chain, aren’t you?”
“No, sir. This is no joke. I swear, he talked to me,” Maren said.
“You can check the recordings,” Franklin offered.
The lieutenant stiffened. “If this is a prank, soldiers, I’m going to-”
“Sir, she is right, sir,” Sergeant Stern spoke up. “We all heard him. He definitely talked.”
The lieutenant studied them for a few seconds longer and then turned serious again. “Well, then. Let’s try again.” Turning once more towards the metal bars, once again turning on 'Lieutenant Mode,' he continued his pacing back and forth, hands clasped behind his back, chin held high. He began again: “Genbot, what do you know about the Event?”
Silence greeted him.
“How are the gens going to try to get rid of us? What are they planning?” he tried again.
Silence.
Jack stopped his pacing and turned suddenly towards the others. “I’m going in there. Open it,” Jack commanded. The gate was opened, the shield was lowered and he stepped across it. Lt. Carlitos stood above the gargoyle, spiderlyn cord still securely tying the biological machine to the concrete floor. He knelt and tried to place himself in the line of the genbot’s blank stare.
“The Event, do you understand? Maybe you call it something else. It’s the gens’ plan to kill off all the humans on earth.”
Silence.
“What do you know about the Event?” Now his temper flared again. “Answer me!” He slammed his hand against the cold concrete floor, but it only echoed in the quiet. Actually, it hurt Jack's hand more than a little.
“Talk!” he yelled. He was roughly following the script Doctor Psycho had outlined, but embellishing it a bit much. He calmed down a little, and gaining his composure again, he leaned in closer to Michael. “Listen here, Genbot, you are going to answer my questions, one way or the other.”
The cameras and monitoring equipment stared.
After a few more questions, all unacknowledged and unanswered, Jack pulled a ballistic sidearm from his holster. The Doctor's formula didn't seem to be working, so Jack decided to break off from the Doctor's recommended course of action and tried a different approach. “Do you see this? Do you know what it is? It’s an old fashioned ballistic slinger: the kind used way before your gen masters were even born. But it still works. It rips apart your insides. In the gut, it’s a bit more painful than an energy blast.”
Maren wanted to hide. Beyond Jack being ridiculous in his performance act and her being embarrassed about even being associated with him at this moment, she knew Jack was actually capable of it. She knew Jack thought of Michael as an evil robot that needed to be dismantled in order to avert the disaster of the Event. Jack would kill it, Jack would torture it, Jack would threaten it if it meant discovering the smallest clue about the Event. Maren understood that. She understood why they did it. But still, to Maren this talk seemed... inhumane.
He moved the steel barrel across Michael’s cheek. “But before we even get to that, I’m sure I can find an arc-welder down here someplace. You ever seen what that does to flesh?” Jack looked down at Michael’s exposed arm where Maren had not too long ago cleaned the deep wound. Then Jack’s eyes moved to his own energy burned arm. He tossed the ballistic slinger from his right hand into his left and jabbed his right index finger into the still-tender-looking gash on the genbot’s arm. “And from what I’ve seen the sub’s retractor did to your arm, I think you’re still very much made of flesh, no matter what’s up inside that thick skull of yours.” Michael did not even adjust the focal point of his blank stare. “Listen, you stupid machine, I’m an officer and I’m the one who is controlling whether you live or die,” he lied. “Say something!”
**
Michael listened calmly but did not feel compelled to answer. He knew the hierarchy of the world. Michael was submissive to, and answered questions from, Rex Skyguard and Magritte. He extended the courtesy of answering his fellow Guardians, as they did to him. Michael did not, however, answer to the machines on Magritte. And he certainly didn’t answer to primitives. But here was a trud ranting and raving about answering his questions. And now he was making threats, too.
Perhaps such techniques worked on other primitives, but this lieutenant was foolish to equate a Guardian of the West with a primitive and to think Michael would answer out of fear. Michael would answer questions that he felt that he should answer to further his mission as he now understood it: find a way to report the facility in which he was imprisoned to Magritte along with any other intelligence he was able to divine.
But threats? What did threats matter to a Guardian of the West? The idea of him being forced by truds to answer a question was absurd. It was as absurd as the idea of Michael demanding an answer from an Ancient. Michael would answer as he willed. And this primitive, this lieutenant, would get none.
57.
Through the Tunnels
Eve had finally rotated off duty, and she wasted no time before starting to work her way through the underground network of service
tunnels, conduit routes, piping tracks, and abandoned transport corridors: the living, dying, and dead guts of the city.
Un-sensored in many areas to avoid any potential gen wiretapping, the tunnels and hidden pathways had served the Organization well over the years. Additionally, the subterranean system served other underground elements, common and not-so-common criminals not the least among them. But Eve was not a criminal. She merely needed a break from time to time. In this case, Eve was using the tunnels to escape. Temporarily, of course. In her mind, it was more a well-earned (if unauthorized) R&R than anything criminal. She’d be back in time for her next scheduled shift, just as always.
She emerged at one of her usual locations, a storm drain in a hidden corner of a city park in a rather wealthy neighborhood. It was actually a fairly small opening, and she had to push her bag out first before squeezing herself through the drain and into the shaded cover of a well maintained shrub. Eve brushed herself off, before exchanging the coveralls she was wearing for the civilian skirt and top she had brought along in the bag. Her hair was never to her satisfaction after working her way through the tight, sometimes humid corridors below the earth. Despite her best efforts, a smudge or two of some foul smelling substance always made it onto her check or hands, too. Yet, these things cleaned up easily enough.
Eve walked the block to the apartment. She didn’t bother ringing. Instead, she took out the key he had given her and let herself in.
Two candles were lit. The table was set. The aroma of classic Mediterranean food filled the air. And he was sitting there, at the table, reading a slim book.
She observed him for a few seconds, before he quietly closed the book and looked up, smiling. “…'Her waters renewed me, like the Springs of Eden'… I read of beauty, but days of reading the most beautiful poetry are nothing compared with a split second glance of you.”