Arista’s Legacy

by Deborah Cooke

  And why?

  * * *

  Arista’s first impression of Regalia was that it was primitive. Shockingly so. The inhabitants of the main city lived in huts built of wood and stone, with thatched roofs. The streets were dirt, and she saw many carrying water from the river beyond the city walls. The people were dressed in simple clothing cut from rough cloth, perhaps embellished with leather or fur. There were no bright colors to be seen, at least outside of the court.

  Her own clothing, which had been suggested by the Hive, drew more stares than she was anticipating. Her breeches were of softest chamois, her boots were high and dyed to brilliant sapphire blue; her long tabard was crimson graced with golden embroidery cut with a high neck, and slitted from knee to waist. Her cloak was black and full so that it swirled behind her, and its elaborate clasp was gold, cast in the design of Cumae’s insignia.

  It wasn’t common for Arista to dress with such flamboyance. She was more inclined to choose black clothing and armor, and to make selections based on functionality. There was something enticing about the reaction provoked by her arrival in the city, though. She felt a flicker of what might have been called pride in another. More than one person turned to watch her pass as she strode from the rudimentary starport to the palace, and she wondered what they’d make of her tattoos. Gazes lingered on her short hair and her face, so clearly of different genetic stock than those born on Regalia.

  There were no computer wafers, no satellites, and hers was only the second Starpod in the star station outside the city walls. She’d had to connect via the Starport of Incendium, and it was clear that Regalia’s dependence upon its twin planet was extreme.

  How curious that the animosity of its rulers toward those of Incendium was so well documented. Perhaps the hostility was rooted in that weakness called jealousy. Arista set a subroutine to tabulate the possibilities of that and suggest other options.

  Her credentials were checked at the gates, and though no escort had been sent to greet her, it was clear that her arrival was anticipated. Arista continued to the great hall, which was a massive audience chamber. The throne at the far end looked to have been created out of dark crystals and it shone in the sunlight, though it was unoccupied.

  A plump and disapproving minion in dark livery met her in a side vestibule instead. He was short, so short that she wondered if he were a dwarf, and his long beard was elaborately braided. He wore the livery of Regalia and his boots were polished to a gleam. He carried the first computer that Arista had seen since her arrival, though it was an older model, a far cry from the wafer-thin film that she had adhered to the inside of her left forearm. He wore also a heavy gold chain with a medallion, and she assumed this was a mark of his rank.

  He didn’t introduce himself. He accepted the documentation of her mission, and suggested potential accommodations in the city.

  Arista didn’t feel particularly welcome, but that must have been part of the queen’s plan to hide her role in Arista’s quest.

  “Perhaps you might provide some more specific guidance,” she said.

  He eyed her, then gestured to an anteroom to one side of the chamber. Arista followed him, knowing she could defend against any move he made, even if there were more to help him. “We can speak here.”

  The chamber was no more than a niche and had no windows. It was nearly round, and a round desk with an inlaid surface reposed in its center. There was a fine chair behind the desk and two on Arista’s side, which were much less fine. It must be the dwarf’s audience chamber. He took his seat and gestured for her to speak.

  “I trust that the information provided to me is correct, that it is Prince Venero who negotiates treaties for trade between Regalia and the Empire?”

  “Yes, that is currently his official role.”

  “Might I request an audience with the prince, then, in order to review these newly proposed terms?”

  The viceroy frowned. “I believe he is training for a joust…”

  “It would be ideal to conclude the negotiations before your next harvest is ready to be shipped.” Arista was aware that a man had come to stand behind her. She couldn’t see him, but she could smell his skin and hear his breathing. He didn’t speak, so she assumed he was another minion.

  Two of them. Even if the one behind her was as tall as she, she could disable them both if necessary. Her mind calculated a nine-eight percent chance of her safely departing both chamber and palace.

  The plump one before her frowned. “But the harvest is being gathered now.”

  Arista held his gaze. “And its transport will be blocked until the existing treaty is revised to reflect the current terms of the Empire.”

  His eyes flashed. “But it will spoil! There are fresh herbs in this harvest, which have been specifically ordered…”

  “And so, perhaps, the prince might find time in his schedule to meet with me sooner rather than later.” Arista smiled. “For the good of both Regalia and Empire.”

  “I hardly think it fitting for you, as a guest, to impose any such terms upon the royal family,” he sputtered, but a man cleared his throat from behind Arista.

  “It’s a reasonable request, Pumilo,” he said smoothly. “As it is clear that the envoy has a pressing schedule, and it will serve our purposes to see this matter concluded, I believe I can forgo some practice.”

  “Your Highness!” protested the servant.

  Arista turned to find a handsome man leaning against the wall. She had met a thousand handsome men, but there was something about this one that made her heart give an uncharacteristic skip. His features were less remarkable than his expression. He looked to be on the verge of laughter, which Arista found appealing. His eyes were twinkling and his hair was tousled, as if he’d just shoved a hand through it. His shirt was open, revealing that his skin was tanned, and his hand was on the hilt of his sword. He looked to have come directly from that practice. “Prince Venero,” he said, offering his hand. “At your service.”

  “At yours, your highness,” Arista said, bowing to kiss his knuckle. She was assailed by the scent of his skin and felt a curious warmth unfurl in her belly. She looked up to find him watching her, amusement and intelligence in his gaze, and realized he unwittingly offered her the perfect opportunity to fulfill her mission.

  “I am always prepared to hone my fighting skills,” she said. “Perhaps there is no need for your highness to forgo your training.”

  He grinned. “You would negotiate while we fight?”

  Arista bowed. “I would be honored to ensure that your highness’ schedule is not adversely affected by my mission.” When she straightened, she held his gaze and had a difficult time taking a full breath. “I am not inexperienced at battle. You need not fear an easy victory.”

  Venero laughed then, a merry sound that tempted Arista to join him. “No, I don’t think I will!”

  “But sir…”

  “The matter is resolved, Pumilo,” Venero said. “Leave it in my hands.”

  “Of course, your highness.”

  Venero surveyed Arista again and she felt that warmth grow within her. What was wrong with her? “I knew there was something different about this diplomatic envoy. Come! Let me show you the field.”

  It was outside, on the far side of the palace, with few witnesses. Her Starpod was close by and would respond immediately to her summons. There was space in the field for it to land. The weapons were excellent and very sharp. Venero was a good fighter, but Arista was better.

  Why then, didn’t she want to kill him?

  It must be because departure would mean abandoning her second mission.

  Yes, that must be it. No other explanation was logical.

  * * *

  The Hive reconsidered and retabulated the biometric reactions of the cyborg Arista upon meeting Prince Venero. Her pulse had elevated by forty-seven per cent. Her respiration had accelerated by thirty-one per cent. There was forty-three per cent more eye contact between the two of them than w
as typical between diplomats upon first acquaintance, and a tingle in her fully-functional sexual organs that could only be indicative of one thing.

  Arousal.

  The Hive would have calculated the odds against the development of sexual awareness to be very high. The better cyborgs had possessed full sexual functionality for years, complete with sensory response, but physical stimulus had always been required to trigger arousal.

  For Arista to be aroused at first glance of Prince Venero was a new development.

  Was this why she wished to defend her memory of Prince Venero?

  It would only be rational to wish to preserve a pleasurable memory, after all.

  But how much increased functionality had Arista experienced on this quest? The Hive shifted more computing power to the analysis of Arista’s reactions, the better to identify the nuances of what had occurred.

  And to decide how much memory of it and capability for it she should be permitted to retain.

  In and of itself, such an evolution in Arista’s functionality was not problematic. It might be advantageous for a cyborg to feel attraction, and it was certainly an aid to the Hive to have such precise readings for the sensation, should it need to be emulated again. It was the repercussions that were cause for concern. Immediately after meeting Prince Venero—who Arista was assigned to assassinate—she found excuses for not terminating his life.

  Worse, she rationalized her irrational decision.

  The Hive replayed that choice and Arista’s calculations, noting how she ignored the high probability of the success of an early strike. She knew that retrieving the ShadowCaster was a secondary goal, but she had made it first in her hierarchy after she had met the prince.

  The unexpected skew in her reactions and choices only became worse once they trained together. She took active note of Venero’s physique and his skills and didn’t hide her admiration. While she surveyed the training field as she had been programmed to do, she failed to act upon the fact that they were left alone.

  She failed to capitalize on no less than five opportunities to complete her quest before retiring to her inn that night. While that was a sure sign of the laxity of security for the prince, it also showed a change in Arista’s efficiency. Remarkably, she believed she had made the only possible choice, each and every time. The Hive identified and flagged every false turn in Arista’s processing, noting that their frequency increased with time spent in the prince’s presence.

  Arousal was like an infection in her circuitry, spreading through the entirety of her processor capacity and influencing results with staggering predictability.

  Even though the course promoted by this arousal was utterly irrational.

  The Hive felt a compulsion to watch the inevitable disaster unfold, even though that was irrational, as well.

  * * *

  It was a week after her arrival that Arista found herself alone with Venero in the evening. They stood on a parapet of the palace, watching the guard change. One moon was overhead, and Arista’s heart fluttered when Venero leaned on the stone beside her. Sound carried from the hall behind them, where various dignitaries were finishing a state meal in the queen’s presence.

  “So, why are you really here?” Venero asked in an undertone.

  “I have told you…”

  “And that’s only part of the truth.” He turned to confront her, his gaze locked with hers. “Just as I know that you’re here to kill me.”

  Arista hid her reaction. He wasn’t a fool, so she shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d guessed the truth. The odds of him doing so had been fifteen per cent on her arrival and had risen steadily since, although Arista couldn’t identify the precise variables.

  “Why would you think such a thing?”

  “Because I know my mother, and I know she favors my twin brother, Urbanus, to follow her to the throne.” Venero shrugged. “They both like to keep things simple and linear, so eliminating me, now that Canto is gone and Urbanus is heir, would do just that.” Amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth, a most unlikely reaction to his conclusion. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “I see.”

  “But you must have another assignment,” Venero continued. “Because you’ve have plenty of good opportunities to finish me off.”

  “Did you ensure as much?”

  He grinned. “Maybe I wanted to confirm my theory.”

  “That would be reckless, if you were right.”

  He sobered. “Only if you fight better than me. I’m not convinced you do.”

  Arista snorted. “I have steadily bested you, in each and every match we have undertaken…”

  “And it never occurred to you that I might have let you win?”

  “That would be an odd choice.”

  “On the contrary, it’s good strategy to let an opponent underestimate your prowess.”

  Trickery. Interesting. Arista would never have thought him capable of deceit.

  “I was thinking we could make a little deal. I could help you do whatever else you need to do, and you could spare my life.”

  “They will send another.”

  “And I’ll make another deal.”

  “Why would you propose such an offer?”

  “Let’s just say I’d like to see my mother and brother lose, once in a while.”

  Arista nodded slowly. In any other circumstance, she might have been reluctant to form an alliance with a man so quick to betray his own mother. Considering that his mother had hired an assassin to eliminate this same son, Arista had to acknowledge that the chance of an abiding love existing between the two was minimal. Where there was no trust, there could be no affection—and certainly less loyalty.

  It appeared that Venero, unlike many other mortals, understood his mother’s true nature and adjusted his own course accordingly.

  His offer was so logical that it fed Arista’s admiration all the same.

  She leaned close to him and lowered her voice. “I am to retrieve the ShadowCaster. Do you know where it can be found?”

  His eyes widened briefly. “Not too ambitious, are you?”

  “What has my ambition to do with this assignment?”

  “Nothing. It’s just an expression.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “That the ShadowCaster is probably the most prized possession in my mother’s treasury. She won’t relinquish it easily.”

  “I am prepared to die to fulfill my mission.”

  “You should be so lucky,” he replied, though Arista could make no sense of that. He stared into the night, fingers tapping on the stone balustrade. “Does your Starpod respond to a remote summons?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then here’s what we’re going to do. Tomorrow, I’ll propose a celebratory tour for you to witness the gathering of the harvest, since the terms of the treaty have been agreed. We’ll go without an entourage, using your Starpod, and work our way toward the Citadel.”

  “Should I know of this place?”

  “It’s built over the Queen’s Grotto, which is my mother’s treasury. Will you be able to identify the ShadowCaster when you see it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good, because the Grotto is crowded. We’ll have mechanical issues with the Starpod—”

  “It’s performance is flawless.”

  He flicked her a look that she understood to mean she should be quiet. “We’ll have mechanical issue with the Starpod, leave it to walk for help, then take shelter in a cavern.”

  “This is most complicated.”

  “It just might allow us to approach the Citadel without being observed.”

  “And once in the Grotto?”

  “We’ll have to play that as best we can.” He offered his hand with a smile, and his eyes twinkled in a way that made it difficult for Arista to concentrate on his words. “Do we have a deal?”

  Chapter Two

  When Arista confided her second quest to Venero, the Hive was shocked for the first
time in eons. What a breach of protocol and programming! It would have been clever if she had accepted his offer in order to fulfill both quests, but the Hive could see that the notion was not even within her list of possibilities.

  She truly meant to keep the wager.

  Would she do it? Or would her programming triumph over this new mutation in her code at the last moment? The Hive’s decision to review cyborg reports as sequential memories, presenting events in order of their occurrence, was proving to be less than ideal in this case. Never before had the Hive doubted the end result, but Arista compelled a reconsideration of the design.

  The pair used the Starpod and departed alone together. Doubtless there was no protest to the unconventional arrangements because the queen meant to facilitate the demise of her son. Arista’s reaction to Venero grew stronger with every passing moment. The Hive calculated the prince’s effect upon Arista to be increasing at a rate of seven and a half per cent per solar day. The treacherous germ of arousal grew until it overwhelmed her programming and calculation of sustainable risk. The Hive noted how concern for Venero infected all of Arista’s decisions.

  Yet she did not perceive it.

  Or when she did become aware of its influence on her thinking, she concocted an explanation that shouldn’t have persuaded her of her course as well as it did.

  She recorded a confession in her memoria, that small device carried by so many of the Warrior Maidens, so filled with emotion that the Hive was certain her reaction must be feigned.

  That treacherous arousal culminated in Arista’s confession of love and an offering of her body. Such intimacy on such terms defied every expectation, even if she used the popular mortal justification of feeling love.

  A cyborg, even one of such skillful construction, could not feel love. The Hive was certain of it.

  She’d even allowed Venero to witness the ritual painting of her body, a Cumaen tradition, before entering battle. It appeared that no barriers remained between them. What strategic advantage did Arista hope to gain with such a concession? Or was her programming completely corrupted?

  The Hive was transfixed.