A. Warren Merkey

by Far Freedom

  “May I touch you, Sir Robot?” the creature inquired.

  “Are you going to hurt me?” Fred asked.

  “Not tonight.” It unfolded one arm, just as its legs had unfolded. The other arm was held across its chest where its fingers curled around one of the shoulder straps of the backpack it carried. It paused with a finger near Fred’s face. “Can you be hurt?”

  “I can feel pain,” Fred answered.

  “Can you feel that?” It pushed a digit into Fred’s cheek.

  “Yes. What is your name and what are you?”

  “Well, now we’re getting personal. I suppose I invited that. My human name is Melvin. I’ve forgot my Servant name. No great loss; it was numerical.”

  “You are a servant, as in one who serves people?”

  “I served the Masters, but they abandoned us.”

  “Would you consent to meet my former master, Melvin?” Fred could suspend his amazement at meeting this alien being for only so long. He knew Pan would be even more amazed and interested. It seemed important that Pan learn of Melvin’s existence.

  “‘former master?’” Melvin repeated. “Is he human?”

  “Earthian, Rhyan, and Essiin.”

  “Mixed up. Good guy or bad guy?”

  “Good guy. A famous musician. I know he would be very excited to meet you.”

  “I’m sure! Well, I have a problem with humans, Neapolitan flavor included. I assume he doesn’t know of my kind, judging from your reaction. OK, I’m in it up to my neck already. What is your name, Sir Robot?”

  “Fred. Please follow me, Melvin. I forget my manners. Very pleased to meet you, Melvin.”

  “Maybe me, too. We’ll see. Damned persistent robot! Why are a robot and a musician wandering through Mississippi at this time of my life?”

  “I’m an autonomous machine intelligence, Melvin,” Fred said, rising and turning in the direction to where Pan was camped.

  “I suspected as much.” Melvin sounded appreciative. He followed as Fred began to walk. “I hesitate to ask, but could you possibly be spontaneous? You have a certain feeling to your elocution.”

  “I am, in a manner of speaking, the son of a spontaneous AMI. He borrowed my body for a time, and when he departed, I was me.”

  “Wait.” Melvin stopped behind Fred. Fred turned around to see what was wrong. “You said your name is Fred. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “I’m beginning to remember something. And it gives me the willies!”

  “What are the ‘willies?’” Fred asked.

  “I don’t know but I’m sure they’ve been given to me! By you!”

  “How can I take them back?”

  “Oh, don’t be so literal! Or are you being humorous? It is not a humorous thing, these willies! In all of this wilderness, for all of these centuries, have I been searching for a being named Fred? Perhaps so! She’s the craziest one of the lot, and now I have to prove she was right! Lead on, McDuff!”

  At this outburst Fred collected several more questions he wanted Melvin to answer, but he knew Pan would need to learn the same answers. It seemed life was worth living, if he could survive the bleak periods between moments such as this. He led Melvin through the dark, choosing a path that was both comfortable and close to the shortest route to Pan. Fred thought to make some noise as they approached the camp, as a warning or to wake Pan, but his friend was not in the camp site. It was almost dawn. Pan was probably taking care of certain biological functions - good - that would give him a little more comfort following the shock of meeting Melvin.

  “Have a seat,” Fred suggested, pointing to a flat rock that had been Pan’s supper table the previous evening. “Pan will return shortly.”

  “His name is Pan? No other name for him?”

  “A rather long family name. And a stage name. Why?”

  “I’m trying to remember what she said! It’s been a few centuries!”

  Fred stood and listened for Pan approaching. Melvin folded its legs up, shed its backpack, and sat on the rock. The sky began to change from night into day. Fred could now see the alien’s face clearly and it was covered with pale growth somewhat like feathers. A piece of tied fabric served as a cap, from the edges of which long feathers escaped down its slender neck. It had a large head with large eyes. It wore shoes of strange manufacture, perhaps made my Melvin itself. Otherwise it was naked but for a natural covering that began to look golden as the daylight approached. Its arms and legs appeared unnaturally short and fat in their folded mode.

  As he heard him coming, Fred turned to watch Pan approach. This would be interesting. Pan halted a few meters away as he noticed Melvin. He stared at Melvin for a long time. Pan looked at Fred and nodded a querying expression toward Melvin. He was not quite as shocked as Fred predicted.

  “Its name is Melvin.”

  “Hello, Melvin,” Pan greeted it.

  “Greetings, human named Pan. What’s for breakfast? As long as it isn’t me.”

  Pan resumed his approach, once the shock passed into incredulity. Even as he studied the creature, it studied him. There was no doubt in Pan’s mind that this was an alien sentient being. The state of the art in robotics was quite advanced and the use of robotic fictional creations was nearly flawless in visual entertainments. But Melvin could be no such machine, not in this rustic setting. It was quite a beautiful thing, shimmering golden in the first indirect rays of dawn. Pan experienced a deeply positive emotional reaction to Melvin. He was about to put his shirt on but stopped and knelt down in the dry leaves in front of Melvin.

  ” Stop that!” Melvin demanded.

  “Stop what?” Pan inquired.

  “Humans are a magical race. They can make us change. I don’t want to change! Someone has to remain sane in this dreadful place. Is your name Pan or is it Petros?”

  “I’m not Petros. Why would you think that? How do you know of Petros?” The alien speaking the name Petros sent a chill down Pan’s spine. To meet a real alien was near the limit of Pan’s grasp on reality, but to realize it knew of Petros and, therefore, probably other important matters, that was too much to swallow at once. “Fred,” Pan addressed his friend, “would you speak for me while I try to regain my wits?”

  “He’s dark,” Melvin said, pointing at Pan with a stubby arm. Melvin had no thumbs. “Petros was supposed to be dark. But he had stripes.”

  “What else do you know of Petros?” Fred asked. “We may not be speaking of the same person.”

  “It’s been too long! I’m amazed I remember that much! But you do know a human named Petros?”

  “We do,” Fred answered. “I would also bet it is the same person. This seems important to you. Would you tell us why?”

  Melvin said nothing for several moments. It looked from Fred to Pan, back and forth, until it kept its gaze on Pan. It slowly unfolded one arm and extended it toward Pan. It had to lean forward a little, and then it could touch Pan. Melvin retracted its arm and shivered. “Petros is going to kill us all.”

  “He is a violent person,” Fred commented, “however, I can’t believe he would kill us. He would have done so, already.”

  “Oh, not you and me. At least not directly. But all the Golden Ones, as they call themselves. My former fellow beings. No great loss. But when they die, The Lady dies. And when The Lady dies, the barbarians will come. Who is this Petros you know of, Fred?”

  Fred looked at Pan to ask his opinion of what to reveal to Melvin. Pan found his voice again. “Petros is the Navy Commander.”

  “Yes! That was foretold! Now I remember! It is just as Constant said, these many centuries ago. But why would he kill the Golden Ones? What am I still forgetting?”

  “Do you think Petros knows of these Golden Ones?” Pan asked, feeling his emotions lowering toward some tolerable level. He cared profoundly for the well-being of this little alien. He wondered if Etrhnk - Petros - could experience such an emotion in his poisoned state.

  “Absolutely! All barbarians know of
us and fear us. Constant will have made his personal acquaintance. All Navy Commanders answer directly to Golden Ones and do as we order them to do. How else can the Union survive?”

  “I don’t believe Petros will harm your people.”

  “Don’t tell me about how you think he will have warm and fuzzy feelings about the Golden Ones! I can see that look in your human face. You think I’m so adorable. How can anyone want to harm us?” That was clearly sarcasm.

  “Oh, I suspect Petros is a killer. But I’ve talked to him recently. I’ve told him who he really is, who he was. I think and hope he’s changing. But it is I who has the task that you tell me will bring an end to civilization.”

  “What task is that?”

  “The Lady in the Mirror has asked me to kill her.”

  Section 006 Menagerie

  She regarded him for a long time afterward. She was, Etrhnk thought, trying to make up her mind about something. He could imagine what that was: when to send him to the games to die. That Constant had feelings for him was easily apparent, despite her almost flippant manner around him. What those feelings were remained opaque to him. She could not love him, not in the normal sense, even if either of them knew what was normal. He thought he saw some sadness and regret in her exquisite and busy face. Her nose and mouth, her eyes and ears, all were easily familiar forms of functions, yet they were not human. Her expressions were human in the basic ways, yet the mobile feathers and alien geometries almost made Constant seem more than human, not less. That such an exotic creature could find human manners useful was a kind of compliment to humans.

  “How much longer do you think I have?” Etrhnk asked, placing a pair of his fingers on her arm and watching the feathers shrink to expose the flesh beneath. He would never tire of touching her.

  “Longer than you probably think,” Constant answered.

  “Have you selected my replacement?” He didn’t care who might replace him. He was merely restless. If he was going to lose Constant, and lose his life, he couldn’t see waiting as a desirable process. Etrhnk had never been impatient, until now.

  “I don’t care who they pick or when they pick.” Constant spoke morosely. “We can go ask them if you like. Would you like to meet the whole feathered menagerie?”

  Etrhnk studied Constant’s mood as carefully as he could, trying to understand how he should reply to her proposal. It was perhaps a serious offer. It did not, however, seem wise of Constant to expose all - or most - of her fellow beings to a barbarian, especially one with too little left to lose. One of his own most common tasks was repairing the mess made by a fellow barbarian who had decided to make a spectacular exit from life as his genetic flaws began to take his body down. “That might be dangerous,” he warned.

  “Why? Are you planning to kill us all?”

  Etrhnk was startled to hear Constant voice such an idea. He pulled his fingers away from her warm skin, feeling cast adrift in the ocean of his own ignorance. “Why would I want to do that?” He hoped Constant understood him better than her question implied. He could never harm a Golden One, even if the consequences were not so cataclysmic as they would be. A single Golden One was once killed, and The Lady destroyed an entire world and billions of people as punishment and as a warning.

  “How can you be so deadly, and yet so innocent?” Constant wondered aloud. “How can I love you so much, knowing how futile it is?”

  ” You should never love me, Constant. I am not worthy.”

  “What do you even know of real love?”

  “I think I once knew, when I was not this fool you think you love.”

  “Etrhnk! You’re trying to be honest with me! You’re telling me you used to be someone else, someone who was not a barbarian. You lived a previous life. You had a different name. Let me guess what that name was. Was it Petros?”

  Etrhnk was again surprised, but Constant probably spied on him when he met

  Pan for the last time. Who knew what spy technology the Golden Ones possessed? He was now concerned for Pan, even for his android AMI. “Where did you hear that name?”

  “You would never believe me. Is there more to your name? I know it’s Greek.”

  “Gerakis is my family name.” Etrhnk was relieved to know Constant had not heard Pan tell him who his parents were.

  “The name is vaguely familiar. Who were your parents, and how long ago?”

  “I never knew my real parents. I would prefer not to say more because I have dishonored them.”

  “I’m in no position to judge morality, but you seem too concerned with ethics.”

  “I admit I am late in elevating its importance to me. I will continue the trend by making a confession to you.” Etrhnk hesitated a moment, then plunged ahead. It might be the last time he saw Constant. It concerned him that Constant said she loved him. She should stop. As with humans, the person Constant loved

  himself - was probably less a matter of choice than it was opportunity. It could probably be turned off with a sufficiently negative statement. He would tell her what he had done to Aylis Mnro. That would turn off Constant’s love. And so he told her. It was a mild surprise that it hurt him to tell her, but that was justice. Then he began dressing. Constant hit him when his back was to her. It didn’t hurt him physically. He didn’t turn around. He could hear her weeping. He continued dressing.

  The universe flickered, trading one reality for another. Etrhnk knew he had passed through a gate. He was half dressed, standing in an unfamiliar corridor. Constant stood behind him, still naked, only dressed in her golden brilliance. He saw she still wept. Even as upset as she was, she took his hand and pulled him along. They walked down a corridor, its floor a shiny black, reflecting Constant’s form. Around a corner another Golden One appeared and halted, alarmed at the sight of them.

  “Go to the meeting room!” Constant ordered. “Tell any others you see to join you there!”

  Constant led Etrhnk into a small room at the end of the corridor. He could not determine the nature of the equipment the room contained. Constant spent almost half an hour with the console, her eyes seeing and directing the equipment in a process perhaps analogous to how humans interfaced with sophisticated hardware. “There!” she said angrily. “All of them! Let’s go.”

  Down another plain corridor Constant pulled him, her bare feet making an almost wooden sound as they struck the floor. A door at the end opened at their approach and closed behind them as they passed into the large room beyond. Thirty voices erupted at once as Etrhnk gazed upon that many Golden Ones.

  They were all the same yet they were diverse. All were dressed in some loose and casual fashion. All appeared mostly human but in varying degrees of approximation. Perhaps Constant and Laplace were the closest to human standards. Some were shorter, some taller, most female and a few male. None of them were heavy. Several were partly bare of their golden covering. The color of the bare skin was mixed and not human, mainly favoring shades of orange and laced with patterns in dark, almost metallic colors. Even the large eyes diverged into subtle shades in a blue spectrum.

  The vocal tumult slowly subsided as Constant remained silent yet challenging to them. Laplace among all of them was the least disturbed. He approached casually but carefully, his favorite fencing foil already in hand. “Is he the one?” Laplace’s question caused silence among the others.

  “Do you remember what I told you more than six hundred years ago?”

  “Kind of hard to forget the rantings of a lunatic,” Laplace said, “although the details are about gone. Something about a Navy admiral who would kill us all. Refresh our memories.”

  “What I never told you at the time was that I did not arrive when all of you

  did. I appeared to be the last of you to make the jump to Earth. In fact, I was already here.”

  “More crazy nonsense!” Laplace declared. “What would it prove, if true?”

  “I was here a century before all of you,” Constant stated. “It proves nothing, but it might be sug
gestive if you could remember that time better. Do any of you remember exactly what this lunatic ranted about?”

  One of the smallest and least human stepped forward. “I have your words in my journal, Constant. You did not say he would kill us. You said he would cause our death.”

  “Semantics!” Laplace argued. “Anybody can make vague predictions that, given time, have a good chance of happening. We can all see there is an eventual end to this situation. The Lady is dying. She’s been dying for hundreds of years. What makes Etrhnk the one? Because he’s the baddest one we’ve seen?”

  “Tone,” Constant said, addressing the smallest Golden One, the one who remembered best. “Tell me the name I gave Etrhnk.”

  “Petros.”

  “Now give me the name of his father.”

  “Alexandros.”

  “And his mother.”

  “Zakiya.”

  Constant turned to Etrhnk. She still held his hand, her four fingers curled tightly around two of his fingers. “Will you lie to me and tell me those are not the names of your parents?”

  Etrhnk was nearly struck dumb. Six hundred years ago Constant had spoken his name and the names of his parents! “How could you know that?” His deep voice almost lost its control.

  “And now it fits together,” Constant said. “A couple of hundred years ago I got a little anxious about a famous man with the name Alexandros Gerakis. Who happens to be Etrhnk’s father! We thought we got rid of him and his wife. Wrong wife. But the right man. Somehow Petros got born. Damn! I bet I know who your mother was. We have all the old Deep Space records. There were only two women on the Frontier He might have impregnated one of them.”

  “One of them was named Zakiya Muenda,” the small Tone offered. “The other was… Aylis Mnro!” She said the second name with dramatic pause.

  “Igor Khalanov was one of the Frontier crew!” another Golden One offered. “They didn’t even change their names! His mother is Zakiya Muenda.”