by Migration
“It seems straightforward enough,” Korshak said. He knew better than to ask Morgal what this was for.
“Get to it, then,” Morgal told him.
In the observatory deck on Aurora, Vogol leaned back in his chair, and the others relaxed their attention from the screen where they had been following Tek’s progress. After entering the Dollarian Academy, the robot had made its way to the rear part, used a peculiar form of open, moving-belt elevator to ascend several levels, and retired to a room that appeared to be its quarters. From Korshak’s communications, it seemed that the presence of a robot had not been made general knowledge. The image on the screen was fixed unmovingly on the opposite wall and had gone out of focus. What might be going on in the circuits that constituted Tek’s mind – if that was the correct term – was anybody’s guess.
Masumichi had been following the succession of views with interest. “A solemn sort of place, by the look of it,” he remarked. “Not where I’d choose to go to take a break. What is it, exactly? An attempt at resurrecting some kind of old-world religion? A political indoctrination center? An educational college? Or what?”
“You could probably say all of the above,” Lubanov replied. “It’s designed to be all things to all people. You see in it what you want.”
“Based on a worldwide economic doctrine or something, wasn’t it?” Masumichi said. “I confess I’ve never spent much time studying these things.”
“I can’t say that surprises me,” Vogol threw in. “Where would you find the time?”
“It empowered an elite by pitting everyone else against each other,” Lubanov said. “So they were prevented from organizing to defend their common interests. Thus, at root the system was inherently destructive.”
“How so?” Masumichi asked.
“They advanced themselves by eliminating their rivals, but that meant they were also destroying each other’s customers and business. So what seemed good for each one considering only its own interests was disastrous for the whole.”
“They’ve gotten it the wrong way around,” Lois Iles said. She had picked up the NC harness that Vogol had set aside and was studying it curiously.
“Who?” Lubanov asked.
“The Dollarians. They’re confusing cause with effect.”
“How do you mean?”
“Yes, the obsession with conflict and competition spread worldwide – exactly why, we’ll probably never know. But it led to the discovery of what organized human labor and inventiveness is capable of achieving – the transformation of an entire planet, despite the system’s inherent destructiveness. But the Dollarians confuse the power with the belief system that stumbled on it.” She laid the harness back down and turned to face the others fully. “Imagine what that power could have achieved if it had been directed differently. They could have made Earth an idyllic place for everyone. A planet with its natural qualities preserved and the toil taken out of life; a setting for what human existence ought to be, instead of a rat race that consumes lives in pointless strife.”
Lubanov was about to comment, when a chime sounded over the audio channel connected to Tek. The image on the screen cleared and moved to center on the door. A small screen set into it showed the head and shoulders of a formidable-looking, bearded, black-haired man with huge eyebrows.
“Voice on. Open,” Tek’s voice instructed.
“Something’s happening,” Vogol said, straightening up again in his chair. The others converged around him again to follow on the screen.
The door opened, and the visitor entered. He was wearing a gray robe over a dark shirtlike garment. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “I’ve been looking for you since the end of the Meeting.”
“Ambulating and communing with inner voices,” Tek replied.
“We are recording?” Lubanov queried.
“Check,” Vogol confirmed.
“Get all of this.”
The bearded man closed the door behind him and assumed a magisterial pose, arms clasped horizontally inside his sleeves. “The time has come for your mission to be revealed, Tek,” he announced.
“So the revelations from Dollar have informed me,” Tek answered.
Lubanov rested an arm on the back of Vogol’s chair and leaned closer. So, finally, maybe they would learn the reason why Tek had been brought to Etanne.
The man went on, “You have attended well and learned much since joining us. In choosing you for this task, we were indeed guided.”
“It is not my place to question,” Tek replied.
“It is the design of Almighty Dollar that the world which is one day to be on Hera shall be founded from its beginnings on principles that will avoid the tragedy suffered by Earth. But in the years since our departure from Earth, other ambitions have come into play that would cause us to stray from the path that was intended. Our future rests in the hands of ones whose policies are not wisely decided. The ineptness of those who are exalted by being accepted as leaders is exposed by the folly of the venture known as Envoy. It is now my honor to reveal to you the role that has been assigned.”
Lubanov could hardly believe his good luck. Only minutes ago he had been doubting if there might be time to brief Tek on what they wanted him to look and listen for on Etanne – the Dollarians’ plans concerning Envoy. Now, all of a sudden, it seemed that the information was about to be volunteered. It was too good an opportunity to just leave Tek there to relay passively whatever the visitor chose to divulge. They needed to be able to prompt him for more. “Get the line open to Korshak,” he told Vogol. “This wants an input channel, too.”
“Korshak had reservations about that,” Masumichi reminded them. Whether the Dollarians were tapping communications from inside the Academy was unknown.
“We’ll risk it,” Lubanov said. “This could tell us everything we need to know.” Vogol reached to the side to draw a viewpad closer. On the screen, the dialog on Etanne continued.
“You say you have communicated with Dollar directly?”
“I have.”
The other’s eyebrows rose momentarily in a flicker of disbelief. It was moot whether Tek would have registered the significance. “Which would imply that your knowledge of the more-enduring realm that lies beyond this transient one is affirmed.”
“I have no doubt of it.”
“So, you would accept the end of your service here on this material plane as an entry into the greater reality?”
“Indeed, I would welcome it gladly!”
Vogol looked up. “I’m not getting through. Korshak isn’t answering.”
Lubanov cursed inwardly. “We can’t let this pass without having any control,” he declared. “Connect through to Tek yourself. Korshak set him up to expect more inputs from the Messenger. It will just have to be you. Try to get this guy’s name.”
Vogol turned back to the panel.
Tek was overcome with admiration for the alacrity with which the plan was unfolding. It had barely returned from its mystical theophany, and already Banker Lareda had appeared.
“I will take you now to a place that you have not been to before, where the preparations have been made,” Lareda said. “There you will be shown the means by which your task is to be accomplished, and undergo instruction in its execution.”
Just then, an interrupt occurred in the web channel that Tek had been told to keep open. The robot acknowledged with a flip of a mental switch.
“This is the Messenger,” a voice in its head informed it.
Tek injected a silent vocalization into the circuit. “The servant hears.”
“It is the desire of Dollar to follow you through your task. I shall be His witness.”
“I obey as commanded,” Tek responded. Although the robot did find it mildly surprising. Why would Dollar have to depend on the feeble senses of one such as Tek to follow anything?
Lareda turned to open the door again, and ushered Tek through into the corridor from which he had entered. “Your name will be immo
rtalized through ages to come, until the time of Hera and long afterward,” he promised.
“The Banker’s words cause me to rejoice,” Tek said.
“They are not mine, but Sorba’s. I merely convey them.”
They came back to the elevator. Lareda stepped into the next compartment on the side going down, and Tek took the following one. As soon as Tek was alone, the Messenger spoke again. “Almighty Dollar has directed that I am to learn through you, for the instruction of those who will came after.”
“I understand,” Tek sent back.
“Does this task of which the banker speaks involve action concerning Envoy?”
“It would seem that this will soon be revealed.”
“Has there been mention of Envoy before, since you were brought to Etanne?”
“Only of the folly that it demonstrates.”
“What of the task that you are to perform?”
“Only that I have been chosen for a special mission.”
Openings to successive levels moved upward outside the compartment. The landing off the side of the Assembly Hall, from which Tek had entered earlier, came and went. The figure of Lareda appeared several levels below that, standing and waiting a few feet back after stepping out. Tek did likewise and joined him.
The surroundings had a different feel from the communal parts of Academy above that Tek was familiar with. The floor was of metallic mesh, and the ceiling lined with pipework and cabling. To one side, a metal ladder led up to a railed platform that disappeared between pieces of machinery. They followed a corridor past equipment bays filled with valves and electrical gear to a door bearing a sign saying authorized admittance only, which Lareda opened by entering a code. The far side was noisy, and the air smelled of hot oil.
“I share your eyes but not your memories,” the Messenger said. “Where does this lead now?”
“I know not,” Tek replied. “The grandfather has never brought me to this place before.”
“Who is Sorba, of whom the grandfather speaks?”
Confusion tinted with an undertone of alarm resonated in Tek’s circuits. While its senses continued registering the surroundings as it followed Lareda, the focus of the robot’s attention shifted inwardly. The Messenger’s questions had been sounding progressively more strange for one in contact with supernatural powers. The query about Envoy had carried a distinct implication of concern. But Tek’s education since being brought to Etanne had left no doubt that sending Envoy was a grave error of judgment and principle. Hence, the voice that claimed to be the Messenger’s appeared to represent a position in conflict with that of Almighty Dollar’s true intermediaries. And now he who called himself the Messenger was using “grandfather” as if it pertained to Lareda. But the real Messenger was from Etanne and would have known that it referred to the elevator – he had even traveled on it with Tek less than an hour before.
“Speak the name by which I would know you,” Tek challenged.
The silence that followed was unnaturally long. Then, “I have already said, I am the Messenger.”
It was clear that the voice Tek was hearing now was that of an imposter from the forces of Evil that had subverted Dollar’s plans on Earth, and had reappeared again to frustrate the Design for Hera.
Tek was not schooled with the knowledge to deal with this. It would have to be placed in the hands of those whose understanding was far beyond the robot’s. In the meantime, Tek had to protect itself from exposure to any risk of corruption. It deactivated the circuit and set itself resolutely to concentrating on the task that was to be revealed. Tek’s faith told it that Almighty Dollar would communicate when the time was right.
“What’s happened?” Lubanov snapped – although he thought he had a pretty good idea. The screen had blanked out, and Vogol was not getting a response.
“He’s killed the channel,” Vogol replied. “It’s disconnected. There was some code name between them that we didn’t know about.”
“The questions were too pointed,” Lois said. “He suspected you weren’t the Messenger.”
Lubanov nodded bitterly. It had been a calculated risk. The chance was there to find out everything they needed to know, and he’d had seconds to make the decision. There was nothing to be done about it now.
“Try raising Korshak one more time,” he said. “It looks as if he’s going to have to make contact physically again.”
Several hours elapsed before Korshak responded. He explained that he had been given a rush job in the workshops where he had been assigned, and unable to get away.
He reported back later that he had gone to the room that Tek had occupied, but obtained no response. Neither had he managed to locate Tek anywhere else. It seemed that the robot had vanished again.
THIRTY-FIVE
It was early afternoon when Lareda returned to the workshops to collect the rider cape that he had sketched for Morgal that morning. Tek was with Seesilan, being instructed on the operation of the Warhorse. Lareda didn’t know what to make of its insistence that Dollar had spoken to it and confirmed its calling as the Chosen One for the mission, but something seemed to have affected it, intensifying its dedication beyond even the fervor that it had exhibited previously. And that was just as well. The horse had been designed to carry an expendable construction-type telebot remote-directed by a human safely ensconced at a console miles away. Since the modus operandi hadn’t changed, Tek’s stated eagerness to depart the material plane in pursuit of a higher spiritual reality would be spectacularly gratified.
When Lubanov restricted access to the telebot controllers at Outmark, Lareda and Sorba had debated at great length the arguments for and against seeking a volunteer martyr. Although some could almost certainly have been found among the ranks of the believers, the option was a messy one, with risks of all kinds of backlash that could tarnish the leadership’s image and set everything back years. And then, out of nowhere, a solution had appeared that avoided all of it. Sometimes, when things like that happened, Lareda was tempted to wonder if there might really be an Almighty Dollar at work somewhere after all.
Morgal had the cape ready in the cubicle that he used for office space at the end of the workshop. Lareda held it up and looked it over. “Not a bad job, considering the rush,” he commented. “Did you do it yourself?”
Morgal shook his head. “Seesilan had another problem that needed some work in a hurry. I gave it to that new novice, Shakor.”
“Oh, yes…. He’s signed it with his name in the corner here. Hm. He seems to have a good hand when it comes to workmanship, anyway,” Lareda said. He caught the dark look on Morgal’s face. “You don’t think so?”
“Oh, he’s good,” Morgal agreed. “Too good.”
“How do you mean?”
Morgal moved to the door and closed it. “There’s something not right about him. He’s made of more than the stuff of a dreamer who wanders about on Plantation trying to get in touch with nature. There’s a competence there that he tries to hide, but I can tell. And he’s always watching – doesn’t miss a thing.”
Lareda folded the cape up slowly and wedged it under an arm. He did recall noting the unusual charisma that Shakor had projected at the interview, but he had been under pressure from too many other things to dwell unduly on it at the time. Already an instinct was telling him that he had erred. “Do you think he could be another one?” he asked. He meant another attempted plant by Lubanov.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Morgal replied. “He was over half an hour late after the Meeting this morning. Now he’s gone again. Something’s going on.”
Lareda tugged at his beard, scowling. That was also the time that Tek had gone missing. And the incident on Sarc showed that somebody was trying to get to Tek. They couldn’t take any risks at a time like this. The first thing to do was have Shakor detained and kept under observation until the operation was over. The explanations and any necessary apologies could wait until then…. And if it turned out that no apology was
called for, they would have to make sure that the message back to Lubanov was spelled out more clearly this time.
Sending Morgal a silent nod of agreement, he reached inside his robe for his phone.
“Voice on. Connect Archbanker Sorba,” he instructed.
Beneath the sinks in the men’s washroom along a side corridor from the central concourse was a removable floor plate that gave maintenance access to the plumbing. The space beneath provided a convenient hiding place for Korshak’s Genhedrin robe and audio headset. Transformed once more into the white tunic of a raw novice, he waited until all was still and emerged from one of the stalls with the bundle wrapped in a piece of plastic sheet. Stowing it out of sight and replacing the floor plate took no more than a few seconds, and moments later Korshak emerged into the corridor and headed for the dormitory area to go up to his cell.
He needed to send a message updating Lubanov’s people on the still-negative result of his attempt to locate Tek before getting back to the workshop. Morgal was getting suspicious over his absences, and at this stage in all that was happening, he didn’t want to complicate things further by creating a confrontation. Tek had gone incommunicado again when Lubanov’s operator got too pushy, and then vanished once more. Any plan to sabotage the launch would have to be implemented through Outmark, and the Dollarians had already shown themselves adept in smuggling the robot aboard ferries. But maybe it was there that they had gone too far and given their method away.
He ascended two levels in the dormitory section and came into the corridor where his cell was located, automatically slowing his pace and casting an eye around for anything unusual. If there was a camera covering the corridor, he had never managed to spot it. At the door, he paused to inspect the strand of waxy compound, setting hard and brittle in a minute or so, that he always stuck across the crack after leaving – not on the latching side, where some intruders might think to check, but on the hinge side, where nobody ever did. The strand was broken. Someone or ones had entered, and might well still be inside, waiting for him. Just at the moment, Korshak didn’t want to know why. He turned silently about and departed back the way he had come. His sojourn on Etanne might be about to come to an abrupt end, he decided as he took the stairs down. But if Tek was in the process of being sent elsewhere, there was little more that Korshak could accomplish here anyway.