Alliance

by Timothy L. Cerepaka

  Under ordinary circumstances, I would have used this as a distraction to make my escape, but unfortunately the door behind me is still locked by the skyras energy. All I can do, then, is wait until these people stop laughing. Hopefully then they will be able to explain what is so humorous about what I just said, although they are laughing so hard that it almost seems like they are going to laugh forever.

  It takes them a few minutes, but soon all of the Foundation agents stop laughing. Even so, a handful of them still chuckle, as if they cannot get over the humor of my words.

  “Expect to face resistance … priceless,” says Rozan, who chuckles every now and then. He nudges Nacina in the arm. “Isn't that the most hilarious thing you've ever heard, Naci? This machine clearly doesn't know a thing about us.”

  “Why did you all laugh?” I say, looking around at them all, hoping someone will explain. “I did not tell a joke. I merely stated a fact.”

  “We laughed because we know you couldn't beat us even if you tried,” says Rozan. He gestures at his fellow agents, many of who are wearing smirks on their faces now. “You don't even know the power we command. Yeah, we know all about your ability to sense and calculate the amount of skyras in an area, but we've taken extra measures to make sure you can't know the true level of skyras energy in this place, which is far higher than you think.”

  I do not know if Rozan is telling the truth. Dwarves are well-known for their ability to tell convincing lies; in fact, once a fellow officer of mine was fooled by a dwarfish criminal on Xeeon who lied about his true identity. Rozan may well have been lying to me here in an attempt to destroy my morale.

  On the other hand, his fellow agents are not disagreeing with him at all. Based on their facial expressions and body language, it appears that Rozan is telling the truth, although it is possible that they are all in on this lie in order to make it seem truer than it is.

  I check my built-in lie detector, which all J bots are equipped with, but unfortunately I discover that it has been disabled. I do not recall having disabled it myself; in fact, until now, I did not know it is even possible to do so, because the built-in lie detector is an inherent feature in my class of robot.

  The only logical explanation is that the mysterious man who repaired me earlier—the one sitting at the head of that table right now, the one who ceased laughing more quickly than the others—must have disabled it somehow. If so, then that means that this man holds illegal knowledge of J bot engineering, which is information only granted to certified technicians.

  That the Foundation disabled my lie detector is a sign by itself that they likely mean me harm. They do not want me to discover the truth about them, whatever that is, and so have disabled the best tool I have for discerning the truth.

  I should attack these beings and attempt to make my escape. I do not know for certain what their plans for me may be, but they cannot be good, even if they do not intend on destroying me.

  But then I stop and consider my situation. The witch by herself can destroy me in one hit, if my scanners are reading her skyras energy levels correctly (which I cannot be certain of, if Rozan told the truth earlier), while the rest of these agents do not look afraid of fighting me if necessary. That I am alone, with no connection to the Database whatsoever aside from the mobile version downloaded into my systems, gives me even less incentive to attack them.

  There is one thing I can do, however, and that is information gathering. I might possibly be able to trick these agents into telling me more about the Foundation, such as its aims and origins, which in turn might be able to help me create a plan of escape from here. It is not an ideal plan, but it is the only plan that has even the remotest chances of succeeding at the moment, so I must take what I can get.

  That is, assuming they do not take me back to my room. There is, after all, no reason for them to tell me anything. And as I have no way to make them tell me anything, I may as well allow them to take me away.

  Therefore, I say, “Very well. I assume you will be apprehending me and sending me back to my room, as I am an escapee and that would be the most logical course of action for dealing with an escapee such as myself.”

  “Nah,” says the mysterious man, shaking his head. He gestured at the room. “You are going to stay here, in this room.”

  I frown, which I understand to be a facial expression many organic beings often do to show their confusion, and say, “Why? I am not a member of the Foundation. Would it not be more logical to send me back to where I belong?”

  “The Head has given us permission to tell you some things about us,” said the man, “because, due to recent events, we are not allowed to let you leave this place. It would not be in your best interests, to say the least.”

  “Why?” I say. I step backwards before remembering that the door is still closed shut. “How do you know what my best interests are?”

  “Because we figure that you probably don't want to be lynched by the angry mobs that believe you killed all those Knights of Se-Dela,” says Rozan, leaning back in his chair, his dwarfish hands folded over his chest. “You know, those ones you worked with earlier?”

  “I did not kill those Knights,” I say. “It was Jornan ah Kona, the infamous criminal, who killed them. Why would you accuse me of that? Palos could tell you that I had no hand in murdering any of those Knights.”

  Mentioning Palos may not be the wisest thing I could have said, because as soon as her name leaves my mouth, Rozan glares at me and says, “What Palos says is irrelevant. It's what the people think about you that matters. And right now, public opinion isn't in your favor.”

  “Hold on,” I say, holding up a hand. “I do not understand. Does the Delanian public believe that I murdered those Knights? Why?”

  “We should start from the beginning,” says the mysterious man, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room to him. “A lot has happened since Palos brought you here and we will tell you as much as you need to know, and no more.”

  I almost demand that they tell me everything, but then I look at it from their point of view. The Foundation is clearly some sort of secret organization, one that likely has many, many secrets that even all of these agents may not know of. It is only logical that they would withhold certain information from me, as I am not an ally or member of their group. And I should probably be thankful that they are giving me any information at all, rather than completely keeping me in the dark on it.

  So I say, “All right. Tell me what you want to tell me. I have nothing else to do at the moment, after all, so I will listen while interrupting as little as possible.”

  “Good to know,” says the man. “But first, let me introduce myself. My name is Konoa. And no, you won't be able to find that name in your mobile Database files, no matter how hard you look or whatever search terms you use, because I technically do not exist.”

  Konoa says that with a calm voice, although I can tell he is amused by his prediction of what I am about to do. Because the truth is, I am going to run his name through the mobile Database and see if I have any information on him, but considering how all of the other Foundation agents I have met so far are not in the Database, this does not surprise me, either.

  Still, I find his remarks cryptic, so I ask, “I do not understand. If you don't exist, how am I speaking with you right now?”

  “It's a figure of speech, clicker,” says Rozan, before Konoa can answer. He gestures at everyone sitting at the table. “None of us exist. Of course, you stupid robots don't understand things like metaphors and similes, right? I see why the Xeeonites think you're so advanced.”

  I do not debate Rozan's notion that metaphorical speech is usually a primary weakness in us J bots. In recent years, of course, we J bots have received upgrades to our language recognition software to allow us to understand figures of speech better, but we are still sometimes thrown off by them, especially if they happen to be newly-created slang.

  But I can recognize sarcasm with no trouble, and
I hear the sarcasm in Rozan's voice quite well. I also recognize the word 'clicker,' which is a derogatory word for robots, although I am not offended by it because I lack the ability to feel offended by anything.

  “What it means, J997,” says Konoa, who glares at Rozan briefly before returning his attention to me, “is that when you join the Foundation, all traces of your previous life are erased. Birth certificates are burned, family ties are cut, names are changed, Database entries are deleted … from society's point of view, we are an organization of individuals who do not exist.”

  That explains why I am unable to find files on any of these Foundation agents in the mobile Database, but I find the last thing he mentions alarming. “Did you say that Database entries are deleted? How so? Only authorized J bots and J bot technicians are allowed to alter or delete any Database entries, and even they have to fill out lengthy reports and papers explaining in detail why they have to before the Database gives them permission to do what they want.”

  “That's one of those things that we're not allowed to tell you,” says Konoa. He folds his hands over the papers before him. “Now, why don't we change the subject to the Foundation itself?”

  “Yes, I would like to know more about the Foundation,” I say. I gesture at the room, which is actually my attempt to gesture at the whole building. “What are you aims? Your origins? How many members do you have? And who is your leader?”

  “You asked pretty much all of the questions we're not supposed to answer,” says Rozan, rolling his eyes. “You might as well ask us to give you our secret names, too.”

  “As Rozan said, we cannot answer any of those questions,” says Konoa. “What we can tell you, however, is that the Foundation is an old organization with origins that stretch back eons. And we are ultimately a force for righteousness, so do not fear that we are up to evil.”

  “Conjecture,” I say. “You have offered no proof to me that you Foundation agents have noble intentions. Based on the way you have treated me, I suspect you are up to no good.”

  “Yeah,” says Rozan, leaning back in his chair and propping his boots on the table, his smile showing his dirty teeth. “Saving your hide from Jornan and then repairing you and recharging your energy … what horrible people we are. I see why you clickers are considered so intelligent; that's the kind of master logic that only Waran-Una's personal pupils ever display. You have blown me away with your reasoning skills, good sir.”

  The sarcasm is evident in Rozan's voice. It does not irritate me, but I do find it a waste of time, as he does not tell me anything new about the Foundation.

  “What Rozan means is that we have indeed treated you well,” says Konoa. He gestures at my legs. “We repaired your leg, for example. If we had ill intentions for you, we would have scrapped you or thrown you out for the public to destroy. We know you are innocent of any crimes accused of you, which is why we have brought you here.”

  Konoa sounds quite sincere, far more sincere than sarcastic Rozan, but I am still suspicious. After all, as Konoa himself says, the Foundation does not exist in the Database, which instantly makes them suspicious to me. It is impossible to trust someone who I know nothing—and can know nothing—about.

  But the fact is, this is exactly what I have been waiting for, so I say, “Okay. Please tell me more about the Foundation. Or what you are allowed to tell me, anyway.”

  “All right,” says Konoa. He glances at the papers before him, like they are note cards he is reading from, before returning his gaze to look at me. “As I said, the Foundation is an ancient, but benevolent, organization. We have existed for eons and have worked behind the scenes for many years, with very few ever knowing of our existence outside of the organization itself.”

  “Are you affiliated with any governments?” I ask. “Do you work with King Waran-Una, for example? Are you allied with the Knights of Se-Dela or the Just Order of Witches and Wizards?”

  “We are associated with no one but ourselves,” says Konoa. “I mean, of course, we have agents in all of those organizations who keep us up-to-date on the various happenings within those groups, but officially we have no allies. It is the only way we can do what we do, as our secrecy allows us to do things that public organizations cannot.”

  Konoa speaks in a way that makes it seem like he expects me to agree with him. The other agents are nodding along, as if to confirm what he is saying, but I find the lack of accountability that this Foundation has to be problematic, to say the least. He may claim that his organization is benevolent, but he offers no proof or evidence to support that claim.

  Still, logic dictates that this is not a good time to argue with these agents about the morality of their organization. First, I must gather information; then I can act.

  “What type of threats does the Foundation typically battle?” I ask. “Criminals? Terrorists? Out of control wildlife? Natural disasters? What?”

  “A little bit of all of that,” says Konoa. “But our true conflict is with another organization that is as old as ours. It is that organization that Jornan ah Kona also belongs to, the same group that has framed you for the murder of all of those innocent Knights you were working with.”

  “What is this organization called?” I ask. “Can you tell me that?”

  “It is one of the few things that the Head approves of us answering, so yes,” says Konoa. “The name of this other organization is Reunification. And unlike us, they are actually up to no good; no, I would say they are even planning to do evil, which is why we fight against them.”

  As I always do, I run the name 'Reunification' through the mobile Database, even though by now I am starting to suspect that this is a pointless chore. And it is, because the term comes up with no results.

  So I say, “What evil is this 'Reunification' planning to do?”

  “That's information we can't give you at the moment,” says Konoa. “But rest assured that, if they succeed, it will cause untold suffering for billions of people on both Dela and Xeeo. Trust me on that.”

  I do not see how I am supposed to trust someone who refuses to give me the full and complete facts about this, but I decide that I will do more investigating later. Who knows, maybe I will even get a chance to speak with an actual Reunification member, who may be able to tell me what their true goals are.

  “Now I believe we have told you all we are allowed to tell you,” says Konoa. “So I hope you have a better understanding of the situation you are in.”

  “Barely,” I say. I gesture at myself. “You still have not explained what you mean when you say that I was 'framed' for the murder of those Knights. How could I be framed? When did this happen? How do I know you are telling the truth?”

  “Ah, yes,” says Konoa. He nods at the witch. “Will you please show J997 his wanted poster?”

  The witch, without saying a word, taps a piece of paper on the table in front of her. As soon as she does, the paper vanishes into thin air, only to reappear a second later in front of me. I catch it before it falls to the ground and then peer at it more closely.

  It is a thin sheet of paper, brown and wrinkly, as if it had been balled up at some point. In the center of it is an artist's sketch of me, and quite an accurate one, too. It even has the tiny dent above my left optic, the one I have never been able to get rid of. It is a sketch of my head, and nothing more, but the head is all I need to see that it is indeed supposed to be me.

  Underneath my picture is my identification number—J997, in large, blocky letters—followed by a string of digits that is supposed to be my bounty, which is apparently 20,000 delanes according to this poster. I quickly convert the 20,000 delanes to Xeeonite digits and discover that it is roughly 30,000 Xeeonite digits; a fairly high number for any individual bounty.

  I look up from the poster and notice how the Foundation agents are watching me, as if awaiting my response. I do not know what response they expect from me; maybe rage, but if so, they are going to be disappointed, because I cannot feel anger at all.
<
br />   “Well, I see that this poster appears to be legitimate,” I say, rolling it up into a tube as I speak. “But I still do not understand why everyone believes that I killed those Knights. I thought everyone would blame their deaths on Jornan and her lizard humanoid servants, not on me.”

  “Because by the time the bodies were found, Jornan and her minions were long gone,” says Konoa. He sighs. “The other Knights who investigated the murders of their brethren noticed that you were missing and unaccounted for. Because the wounds on the corpses look like the kind of wounds a robot would inflict on a human, they assumed you did it.”

  “That still does not make sense to me,” I say. “Are they ignoring Jornan now, even though she was also there when they were killed?”

  “They aren't just blaming you,” says Konoa. “The official story is that you and Jornan worked together to kill the Knights. Either you joined Jornan entirely out of your own free will or you were reprogrammed by her to help her and fled after killing the Knights you were working with; in either case, you are wanted by the Knights of Se-Dela and most of the Delanian public hates you.”

  “But what about my fellow J bots and the Xeeonite government?” I ask. “Do they know about my disappearance? Do they agree with the Knights' conclusion? Have they sent anyone to try to find me?”

  “A few J bots were sent to aid in the investigation when it became clear you were missing,” says Konoa. “They disagreed with the conclusion, but have been unable to offer an alternative explanation for your disappearance. So they returned to Xeeo, where the Database has decided that you are not worth the trouble of rescuing.”

  That I understand. In addition to being the largest electronic archive on Xeeo, the Database also acts as the Chief of the J bots, as our leader, making decisions for the whole force, not just a few J bots here and there. That the Database has apparently decided that I am no longer worth rescuing is grim news, but understandable, because if what the Foundation agents say is true, then I doubt very much that my fellow J bots can find me even if they try their hardest.