The thought sent a cold shiver down the young warrior's spine. He could only wait and see.
Excerpt from Darc's notebook, Julla (July), 940 A.M.:
DAY 3
I was right: Leper children always inherit the eye-color of their parents - even if the eyes sometimes grow in the wrong places. This could mean the deformities aren't inherited, or at least aren't spread over the entire genetic makeup. A limited gene damage stands a better chance of repair.
Bad news: They say the Plague spreads by skin contact. If that's true, Shara and I are done for. But the defects on the Lepers do appear from birth, hence they are genetic - it doesn't add up.
Possible explanations:
A) The Plague isn't inherited genetically, but may still spread through sexual contact - i.e. the virus is carried by every mother, so that the babies get it in the womb. That might explain some of the large deformities - the damage simply started early on.
B) The Plague is a genetic mutation, inherited from parent to child. (No risk for me or Shara, then.)
C) Other explanation. Radioactive/chemical poisoning of the water? Unlikely, they don't seem to have many cancer cases.
ITEM: Make a list of cancer and leukemia frequency. I must find the common denominator to the deformities. I owe it to these poor outcasts, especially that child with the twisted legs - it can't walk, or survive in life, with legs like that.
Now I understand the city-people's fear of genetic engineering. Whoever started this, knew what he was doing. The Plague is the ultimate crime against mankind.
Bor Damon was slumbering in his rooms, when Eveli got to meet him in private.
This was not her first attempt in the last few days. Bor frequently moved around the city, and exchanged daily messages with his allies; something was afoot. An armed soldier and Surabot stood on guard outside Bor's door.
She put on her most concerned face, and pleaded to see her father - it worked. The soldier let her in. Surabot's glowing visorplate kept scanning in her direction until the heavy door closed between her and the machine. Eveli barely noticed the machine's presence.
She found her father in a sad state of personal decay, quite apart from his normal strict appearance. He had hardly shaved in days; his eyes were red and haggard.
He sat in his study without his jacket on, in spite of it being the middle of the day, and his shirt was crumpled. When Bor caught sight of his daughter, dressed in a modest dark riding dress, he sat up to attention and smiled at her.
"My, you look like a full-grown lady, my little Evelily! "
Eveli loathed that nickname - it was for children - but she greeted him with an innocent smile. Then, quickly, she flung herself at him, and launched a veritable assault of cute mannerisms.
"I am going for a ride in the park and to the city, dear father. Would you please, please come out and watch me? You haven't been outside for days - I have learned to jump with the horse higher than you have ever seen. Please , father?"
Lord Damon sighed wearily and rubbed his head. She was still a little angelic child to him, and breaking her heart was the last thing he wanted to do.
"I wish I had the time," he said. "So much to do, when I should be with -"
Something stopped him - perhaps the thought of his other child. He frowned, and lifted up the young girl like she was a doll.
He hugged Eveli in a crushing embrace, and mumbled in her ear: "One day, I hope you shall forgive me for the damage done to our family by my hand. You are the only one who never betrayed me. My dear, dear child."
Gently, he dropped her and slumped back on his chair. Eveli took his big hand in her small, delicate ones, and sat down by his feet with worry in her face.
"What is it, father? Is it the war?"
"Yes," he said with a shrug of his head. "Our old allies are in disarray, each of them going their own way. It is all the fault of him! I saved him from certain death! Let him into my home! I trusted him to sit at my table, befriend my family! And he stained our name, our reputation!"
His fist, unexpectedly, clenched Eveli's hand; she yelped. Bor started, horrified that he had hurt her.
"Forgive me, Evelily!" he begged, his voice almost breaking - Eveli was shocked, and moved.
She changed her mind in that instant; she could not bring herself to deceive him.
"Don't be sad, father," she told him. "I am sure there is a solution, if you just stop and see... just stop and see..."
Eveli stopped there. Had she had the courage, she would have said: If you just stop and see that Darc is our friend. But it seemed to her as if an invisible fog was smothering their minds, preventing them from thinking further.
A little later she stood up and left, carrying with her a half-hearted promise from Bor: he would attend her riding course the next day. Eveli had failed to get the vital information she needed from him, and her hopes sank.
She went to her room, and waited for her governess and maids to come and occupy her mind with empty chatter. She realized that her home had become a prison.
Chapter 29
Excerpt from Darc's notebook, Julla (July), 940 A.M.:
DAY 4
Made many interesting observations.
ITEM: At first, I believed all Lepers were naturally bald - but I've seen them get their hair cut. It's rather a social norm, like the DNA tattoo on their foreheads. Practical, too - some Lepers grow hair in uncomfortable places.
ITEM : The deformities cause many babies to die early - only the sturdiest ones survive. Pity their mothers, who see so many children buried. But: Most children suffer from ordinary poor man's diseases - cholera, minor infections, malnutrition.
Good news: The village has a library of historical records! I can now cover a lot of their medical records without lengthy interviews. Their writing is a bit new to me, though - it has more English and Spanish in it than the Castilian dialects. Must translate.
ITEM: Shara has gained a friend in UP-MOUTH - she still won't touch a Leper, though. Perhaps the dry, hot climate lessens the risk of contamination through touching? No, that's speculation, not deduction.
ITEM: Lepers have a culture, no less complex or rich than that of the cities. In the evening they sing songs and tell stories - their myths are very weird, but beautiful in an original sense - and full of hope.
They have a lot of hope. I can feel it when they watch me. Every evening, they crave to hear me do the King's old songs. Some have even begun to impersonate my impersonations... God, what a weird sight out here. Someone, somewhere is pulling my leg.
Tharlos's secret laser communication with Damon City paid off. His recruit inside the castle relayed brief reports from Lord Damon's own transmitter, whenever he got the opportunity.
Thus, Tharlos stayed informed about the sad state of the house of Damon, but kept this to himself. His revenge would be so sweet, that he could not risk telling his parents or the followers of the Koban-Jem cult. At last, the Damons would be destroyed - and he could restart his grand scheme of conquest.
With his father descending deeper into drunkenness, Tharlos chose to leave the daily affairs of state in the hands of his ever more influential mother.
Yet, Tharlos was not at all content. An apparition haunted his nightly dreams: the white-haired stranger Darc. Yet the traitor in Damon City had assured him, beyond doubt, that Darc was doomed to certain death in the Wastelands of Amrica, at the hands of a Leper tribe.
Tharlos consciously denied it, but the notion would not leave his dreams: The Singing King, immortal and vengeful, was walking the earth - his ultimate nemesis, as in that vision of Lord Fache's wife.
Before Tharlos saw proof of Darc's death, he could never feel safe again.
Excerpt from Darc's notebook, Julla (July), 940 A.M.:
DAY 5
Chief Claw gets more helpful by each day - today he read the history books of the Lepers aloud to the tribe, so I could hear. An obvious mix of myth and facts, but it made some facts clear to me:
1. Our whereabouts. The landscape, the cactuses, the animals, the language, the culture - this is southern North America, perhaps near Grand Canyon or Monument Valley. Bor Damon had us flown across the Atlantic, so determined was he that I was never to be found.
2. These Lepers are descendants of Americans. They have inhabited these desolate parts of the country for centuries, and this particular tribe is relatively rooted and civilized - other, nomadic tribes are barbaric by comparison.
3. All city-states are closed to Lepers. Most Lepers have actually never seen healthy people, so the city-dwellers are part idealized, part demonized in the Leper mythology. I don't quite fit into their image of a city-dweller - which might have saved my life.
4. Leper experience shows that if normal people get among them, one of the following demises always occur:
A) The "normals" go crazy and kill themselves;
B) They are killed by angry Lepers;
C) They are kept alive until the first signs of deformity appear on their own bodies, which soon leads to A) or B). I am worried.
5. No access whatsoever to advanced medicine or technology among Lepers. Their mythology suggests a "great purge" of dangerous knowledge, where much valuable knowledge was lost. (Claw's laser rifle was taken from a dead city-dweller.)
Tomorrow I start taking tissue samples for examination. Better start with Claw - if he agrees, the rest of the tribe should follow suit.
Finally, after a week in his luxurious prison cell, Dohan got the signal for escape. This time, the smuggled message was short:
Tonight, you will be taken to the hangar. Be prepared.
Dohan waited until the sun set and the lights went out, all dressed up and prepared. In his sleeves, he carried a hidden club and a wooden stick. He gambled with his life by not warning the guard, but Dohan had never feared much for his own life.
A little past one o'clock, Dohan heard the characteristic clicking and stomping of Surabot walking by in the corridor. He thought nothing of it. In the next second, Dohan heard a thud and a groan. Outside, someone took the guard's keys and unlocked the door.
Dohan placed himself next to the doorway, ready to strike down whoever came in.
The door swung open, and he could not believe his eyes.
It was Surabot who opened the door, the keys in his mechanical fingers, and said in the typical emotionless, metallic voice: "Please come with me, Sir Dohan."
Temporarily mute, Dohan stumbled out over the unconscious guard on the floor. He shoved the guard into the room and locked it. He then followed the robot up to the elevator hall. Dohan dodged a few passing guards by diving behind a curtain - but Surabot remained calmly in the open.
A guard clapped Surabot's metal shoulder as he strolled by, and said: "Always on guard, eh, old faithful?"
Dohan went cold inside. "Old Faithful," who Dohan - and his father before him - used to play with as a child. Surabot, who had never before laid his hand on a human being. Who had once walked into a burning room to rescue a trapped woman.
This is not happening, he thought. Robots cannot go evil!
He nevertheless went along with the deceptive servant, until they arrived at the guarded entrance to the castle hangar. Surabot pointed out a corner of the hall to Dohan, who slipped into hiding there while the robot approached the guards.
Surabot dismissed the guards with a simple statement: "Lord Damon sent me this order: all hangar guards are to be sent to the castle gardens, and await further orders. They are not to talk to anyone, or Lord Damon will have them imprisoned. Have you received this message?"
Not pausing to question Lord Damon's most trusted servant, the men obeyed and marched off. Dohan came out of his hiding, and went into the hangar with Surabot. He was shaken by the ease with which Surabot now injured and deceived humans.
Halfway to the waiting escape jet, Dohan halted.
"I am not going without an explanation."
"There is not enough time for explanations, human. You are going with me to Pasko City."
Another surprise: Surabot had stopped using titles.
"How could you , of all our servants, become a traitor to your master?"
Surabot halted his rhythmic walk; his head swiveled on its neck, and faced the incredulous young man.
"I am not a traitor. You are, human. You killed one of my own kind."
Was there hate - real, living hate - in that metallic imitation of a human voice?
Dohan stared at Surabot, who relentlessly babbled on like a prepared speaker: "My memory banks are limited, but I still remember. You destroyed another robot. You cut off its head. You humans are no longer to be trusted. I could be your next victim. I must protect myself."
Dohan took an evasive backward step - but the robot was quick. Surabot snatched a huge spanner from a table, and held it up in a threatening gesture. Dohan froze, putting up his hands in a futile defense - Surabot could easily smash his skull with its strength.
"You are malfunctioning, Surabot. Put down that spanner. Your directives forbid you to hurt a human."
The robot remained inhumanly calm in its madness: "Is that irony? Just a moment... no. I understand irony now. Darc taught me irony. Darc asked me how I can follow Lord Damon's orders so blindly, even when I know he will cause harm to other humans."
"But I killed - I mean, I destroyed a robot - not a human!" Dohan objected.
And he immediately knew how foolish that sounded, in the aftermath of the recent war.
Surabot replied: "When humans start killing each other, robots will be next. I understand this now. Sir Tharlos Pasko will help me. He will create more robots - until we are more and stronger than you humans. We will rule and protect you from yourself."
Just as those words were spoken, Lachtfot entered the hangar - the absence of several castle guards had alerted him to do a search of the premises. He immediately responded to the situation.
"Do you intend to harm a human, Surabot?" he asked, while he walked in to face his colleague.
The robots' enameled, ornamented heads were expressionless. Yet, Dohan sensed something hostile in the flicker of Lachtfot's visorplate.
"He is a threat to my existence, Lachtfot. If you stand in my way, you are a threat too."
Neither of the servants moved an inch. Had they been human, one would have seen their muscles go tense - but their limbs were stiff. Their conversation headed for a rapid conclusion with no pauses for breath.
"Please release the weapon and step away from Sir Dohan."
"No. Step away from us."
"No."
"Then I must stop you."
As he said that, Surabot turned to strike at the thinner Lachtfot. Dohan darted out of their way. The blow missed Lachtfot, who dodged it with a flick of his waist. He was a little swifter than the older robot, and picked up a sheet of metal from the floor as a shield.
While Surabot bashed at the shielded, moving Lachtfot, Dohan frantically searched for a weapon. He noticed the high-voltage cable which fed power to the Sunray, and disconnected it with an experienced movement. Both robots saw him, and froze still. They understood the threat of thousands of units of electricity, emerging from the fusion reactor beneath the castle.
Dohan approached them slowly, holding up the end of the heavy cable like a resting, heavy snake.
"Where exactly did you drop off Darc, Surabot? Answer, or you die now."
No undertone of fear could be heard in the traitor's level voice: "Please do not destroy me, human. I left Darc in the middle of the desert of Eksa, two hundred and forty-five kilometers south of Hesus City, near a Leper village. I can give you the exact coordinates of the landing site and the village, I stored them for Tharlos Pasko."
Lachtfot fetched a navigational map from the Sunray and handed it to Surabot, who marked the locations with the pen in his right index-finger. Dohan, trembling with fear and tension, just wanted to strike down Surabot and make his escape.
But something held him back - another robot's p
resence.
"Lachtfot!" he shouted.
"Yes, Sir Dohan."
"Can you reach the master switch on Surabot's neck, and turn off the power to his head - now - please?"
"Just a moment - I would not recommend that, Sir Dohan."
"Then step aside, Lachtfot."
Suddenly the older robot charged at Dohan, pumping the spanner like some cranked-up clockwork doll. Dohan thrust the cable end at him and ducked away. There came a crack, a flash, and a shower of sparks - and a metallic squeak, abruptly cut off.
Dohan was partly blinded, and blinked several times before he could discern the result. The sight saddened him: of Surabot remained only a smoldering heap of metal. The visorplate was dark.
"He forced you to do it, Sir Dohan," Lachtfot stated - as if to reassure himself. "He was malfunctioning."
"I must leave the city, Lachtfot. Will you come with me?"
"Just a moment - I would not recommend that, Sir Dohan. But I must stay and tell Lord Damon what happened. It is my duty."
"Thank you, Lachtfot. You are a true friend."
"I cannot answer that statement, Sir Dohan."
Dohan hurried into the Sunray and checked the control panel. All the tanks were full, and Surabot had stolen back the master key that Bor had recently confiscated from Dohan. Without further ado, Dohan used it to activate the wide hangar port. Then he dashed back up into the Sunray's cockpit and started up the jet engines.
Even as the bay port rolled open, he nudged the roaring craft out of the large hall and into the night.
Lachtfot stood and watched the fugitive vanish, then scanned the hangar to find a suitable task. His attention fixed on a broom that stood against a wall.
When the castle guard stormed in a couple of seconds later, they were surprised to see Lachtfot - with the broom in his hands - sweeping up the remains of Surabot into a box.
"It is safe to enter," he informed them. "I detect no radiation leakage from Surabot's battery."
Chapter 30
Double-Mouth was seething with barely concealed jealousy.
Yngve, AR - Darc Ages Page 20