”Three?” Amber said. Eath had told him about Shepherd’s double-agent status ... or suspected status. If nothing of note occurred during their tour, everything would have been right as rain. But seeing Spigot here in this strange room, minus a leg ... Ort Eath had predicted something odd might happen at the Melphic Ruins. And if it did, his orders were explicit.
Kill.
But Blicia? He gazed at her. Her features betrayed no emotion.
Angharad took a tentative step forward. “He thinks he’s got all the bases covered, but he hasn’t. I’m the wild card. I’m a Galactic Council agent, Amber. Purely legit, assigned to infiltrate his operation, to be sure he’s on the up-and-up. Damned good thing I did. The creature’s plans for the human face aren’t exactly as enlightened as he pretends.”
“I—I don’t understand—” said Amber.
“This woman beside you,” continued Angharad. “Her body used to belong to a friend. Another agent. Only she got caught. Ort Eath must have scooped out her brain, made a cyborg. Machine’s probably recording everything for further viewing later.”
“That’s a lie!” said Blicia. “What’s going on, Philip?”
“Wait a moment. Let me have my say. I’m putting everything on the table, Amber. We’ve all been wearing disguises, but for the sake of the human universe, they’ve got to come off now, I swear.” The words flowed, crisply, precisely. “This isn’t any two-bit hit, Amber. By killing Todd and I, by blowing this place up, which no doubt he wanted you to do ... by obeying him to save your neck, you’re betraying your own race.” Angharad pointed upwards. “You know what he has up there, waiting for Terra? A bunch of antimatter, maybe as big as your fist. Mishandled, it’s just about enough to blow a planet apart. A planet the size of Earth. I’ve seen it. So did the real Blicia Ginterton. That’s why Eath killed her. Then sent her implanted body to check you out. Just to make sure you were no threat.”
Doubtful, Amber gazed at Blicia, who shook her head. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
“Oh yes,” continued Angharad. “And he probably programmed her just for you. That’s why she seems so right for you, Amber. But she’s not a person, I promise you. Just a puppet, with all her strings implanted within her head. Now, what did Eath instruct you to do, Amber, exactly?”
Amber told her, unsure of himself now. He felt the pain and uncertainty lividly flushing his face.
“What about me?” demanded Angharad.
“He said he wasn’t sure about you. Didn’t want to take a chance, if you were involved ...”
“Now surely, Philip Amber, you are not so dead in the heart and head to realize that a creature like Eath, with those sort of operating methods, does not have a benevolent philosophy toward mankind in general? Put your laser on Blicia before she goes ahead and kills us all. She may be back-up. I can prove everything I say.”
Amber hesitated, turmoil boiling within him.
“C’mon, man! She’s probably insurance. Maybe he didn’t really expect you to do his dirty work—he just had you ask to go along as his agent so good old Blicia here would tag along, do the real work.”
Amber hesitated. He stared hard at Blicia. But she stared back coldly.
“Sounds plausible to me,” said Spigot.
“Look,” said Angharad, pleading. “Give me a chance. All you have to do is come back to the Star Fall with us, and we’ll just have to see what we can do about the situation. But if you kill us, that about nixes the only hope Terra has. We’ll say that nothing happened—and if Blicia here is all right, and she is human after all, nobody gets hurt. How’s that, Amber? Come on, man. You’ve killed enough, haven’t you?”
Totally wretched, wracked with doubt and pain, Amber lowered the weapon.
With astonishing quickness, Blicia reached over and plucked the mini-laser from Amber’s hand. She stepped back to a position to cover them all. She drew out another, larger laser that had been taped to the small of her back.
“Well, well,” said Angharad. “We were carrying a regular arsenal, weren’t we?”
“You will neither speak nor move,” directed Blicia in a firm tone. “We will wait until the creature shows itself and we determine its nature.”
Amber jerked his head up to stare at her. He remembered their first night together sitting afterward smoking a cigarette. Softly, murmuring to herself, the woman in his bed had turned over, rustling the sheets. She’d been kind to him, Blicia had. Understanding.
He’d never before performed so badly in bed. Still it was the best lovemaking he’d ever known ... and continued to be.
Too bad, he thought, and began to compose himself.
Suddenly a cylindrical orange beam streamed from the center of the solid table atop the dais, crackling fire over Blicia’s form. The sparkly stuff shivered, filling the air with static electricity—and, eyes closed, Blicia wilted to the floor.
Running to her, Angharad felt for a pulse.
“Is she alive?” asked Amber, ashen-faced.
Spigot stared at the top of the dais, eyes wide. Without answering Amber’s question Angharad arranged Blicia’s recumbent form more comfortably on the floor and folded a jacket for a pillow. Apparently Blicia was still breathing.
Angharad stood. “Well, it appears that someone or something was watching over us all the time.” She turned to Philip Amber. “You made the right decision. I’m sorry to be the one to let you know about Blicia. Todd told me how much she meant to you.”
“Just a machine—a programmed machine,” whispered, Amber, bitterly. “Dead. Wouldn’t you know it—that’s probably why I could love her. She was dead inside. Like me.”
“You need help, man. We’ll talk about it later.” She walked over, stooped over Todd like an impatient schoolmarm. “You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you, Todd? We could have worked things out a lot faster if you’d confided everything to me.”
A clear and sylvan voice spoke from the direction of the dais. “My fault entirely. But it worked out well in the end, didn’t it? I have everything well under control.”
Angharad jerked up. “Who the devil are you, anyway?”
“His name is Cog,” Todd said wearily. “And as to what or who he is, I’d just like to find out. A whole bunch.”
* * *
Later they sat on the dais, perched beside the table, finishing off their picnic lunch rather calmly, considering.
Amber faced away from the rest, not wishing to look anyone in the eye as he finished his part of the story. Todd Spigot slurped tea anxiously. He’d given his part and was waiting to hear what Angharad had to say, feeling miffed that he’d let her intimidate him. She’d been holding out on him a lot more than he had with her ... that was for sure. He’d finished his summary in just over a minute; there wasn’t much to tell that the other two did not know.
It was Cog, speaking from the Crem mechanism, who’d suggested that they all piece their knowledge together.
“... so I thought ...” said Amber. “I mean, what could I say but sure. If the guy set me down on a planet I’m wanted on, my goose’d be cooked.”
“So you decided to cook ours instead.”
“The guy told me that there was a plan afoot to harm the Star Fall. It sounded sincere at the time. Look, I didn’t do it in the end, did I? So get off my back.” He sipped at his coffee and spat it out. “What about you, machine!”
“I’m not and never have been a machine. I may have taken that form for a time, but I do not wish you to believe that I am dependent upon machinery.” The voice spoke with authority and precision. It also, thought Todd, seemed curiously detached. “And so, Angharad. You know the situation we have upon the Star Fall better than anyone.”
“I’m getting tired of this,” she responded sharply. “I want to know who you are and what you think you have to do with it. Why the hell were you walking a
round as part of a MacGuffin? How’d you get involved? Fortunate sheer coincidence.”
“No. I thought it timely to make inquiries, that’s all. But my explanation shall be last. Yours, Angharad, is scheduled next.”
The woman stood and commenced to pace, gesturing impatiently for emphasis. “Like I said, I’m an agent for Galactic Central. We kind of keep tabs on this and that in interstellar affairs—prevent wars, or start them ... whatever seems right. Can’t tell you my real name, I’m afraid. Secret.
“We’ve had our eye upon the building of the Star Fall for some time, as a double precaution. We’ve been watching out for any factions set against peaceful relations with Morapn civilization. When we can, we neutralize these forces. But we’ve also been observing the actions and intent of the Morapns. Particularly Ort Eath, at my insistence. From the beginning I strongly objected to him taking the reins of the project ... despite his talents, despite the vast amounts of money he funneled into the project. I never trusted him. Not for a minute.”
“What the hell are you trying to say?” said Todd.
“It’s very simple. Ort Eath is part human.”
Todd blinked. “Well, of course he’s part human,” said Todd. “He explained that to me when we first met. His orgabox renders his essentially—”
Angharad waved her nic-stick impatiently. “Listen, huh? That’s just cover ... and something more. I’m not exactly sure what. I’m talking about biologically part human.”
“How can you be sure,” said Amber, suddenly taking interest, swinging his head around.
“Because,” explained Angharad. “He’s my half-brother.”
“And he doesn’t know that?” Amber said disbelief plain on his face.
“He knows I’m an agent but that’s all. An Earth agent, not his sister.”
“With the brain-scan on that boat?” Amber said. “I find that very difficult—”
“We’ve got the systems to mask the brain-schematics, Amber. Had it for years. But of course if it leaks out, there will be no way to identify anyone. So we don’t even like to use the system—and when we do, you can bet we have systems to back up the bafflers all right. They try to crawl too far into my brain, it self-destructs. So I’ve got to tread a very narrow line. I made a mistake getting in to see the antimatter box. Obviously, Ort Eath doesn’t trust me now and wants to get rid of me without attracting the attention of the other officials aboard the ship. He’d have just pinned it on you, Amber. Let you suffer the consequences. But I’m getting off track.”
“Yes,” said Cog coolly. “Our information is incomplete. How could Ort Eath possibly be your half-brother? Procreation between Morapn and human is impossible.”
“And who the hell would want to do it anyway?” murmured Todd.
“My father. He was a missionary of Raxes Three.”
“Ah—” said Cog. “A treaty world. But the two races are segregated.”
“But the Morapns occasionally allow missionary ventures into their territory. Although my father was a Christian missionary, his training was, before he went into that calling, as a genetic engineer. Somehow, he got ahold of a specimen of Morapn tissue ... and managed to meld a Morgan gene with a human—his own—in the laboratories he’d set up. He popped it into a change-tank, got the cell to divide somehow, nixed out the differentiation. God knows how. After months of hard work, out came Ort Eath.”
“Incredible,” said Amber. “But I’ve seen the guy, and I’ve seen Morapns. He looks just like one!”
Todd concurred.
“The physical characteristics of Morapns were dominant. There were a few aspects which had human qualities—but later Ort Eath had those surgically altered. But, if anything, inside Ort Eath is more human than Morapn. This explains his capacity for hatred and madness. But let me go over this in a little more detail, because it’s very important and in the light of what we know now, and what Cog can shed on the subject, it might become even more important.”
Todd listened, wide-eyed.
Angharad’s father was Abraham Marshack who had made the missionary venture seventy years before to Raxes Three after a violent Christian conversion. At this time, the essential problems between the Morapns and humans had just come to light. Marshack felt called by God to bring the Gospel to this new set of heathen—and to somehow bridge the gulf of understanding between the two races. He felt that God had led him into genetic engineering for this purpose ... and that, by somehow creating an individual both Morapn and human, that person, properly trained, could become a sort of intercessory between the two.
Raxes Three was, of course, the perfect planet for this to occur. Bringing his wife and Angharad there, he immediately set up shop. After years of failure, he finally was successful. Ort Eath emerged. A victory, thought Marshack. God was truly smiling upon him.
“How old were you during all this’!” asked Amber.
“Just a child. The first I really remember of it was when my father brought what I thought was a young Morapn home. He told me that I should treat it like a human, and so I did the best I could. I was ten then. Father taught Isaac—that was Ort Eath’s name—the ways of mankind and what little he knew. Although we made him sure that he was special, in every respect, we treated him like an equal. He grew very fast, learning all the time. My father, when he could afford it, bought a learning machine for him. He wanted to know everything. He loved knowledge, and particularly loved the religion that Father taught him. He was an incredibly perfect child—no trouble at all. Capable of much love—and yet so much more. Father was very excited. Before long, he figured, he not only would have the ideal intercessory—he’d have the perfect missionary. Isaac seemed very eager to take on that role.
“Isaac thought of himself as a human. He was never clearly taught that somehow he was anything else.
“He was lonely. Naturally as a Morapn youngster, or at least as the physical double of one, Isaac had been isolated in the human community. Eventually he grew to be rebellious on this one subject. He wanted companionship. Innocent and natural enough. But he ran away and we had no reason to believe we would ever see him alive again. A human ghetto on Raxes was not a good place for a Morapn to be found unattended.
“When we found Isaac, he was in a jail cell. He was curled up in a filthy cell, rocking. Almost catatonic. It took a day for my father to convince them to set him free in his custody.
“When we finally got him back, Isaac was different. When he talked to us at first he didn’t seem to recognize us. He almost seemed autistic, withdrawn into himself. It was as though he’d rejected his human heritage.
“Well, he recovered slowly, under our care. Eventually, he even talked to us, resumed his lessons. But he was changed. How can I explain? He seemed to be wearing a mask instead of being open. He was very private—and beneath the outwardly pleasant rational exterior, I could see occasional flashes and signs of something very reserved, very bitter. Hateful.
“With my father’s assent, he plunged into his studies of the Morapns, absorbing it all with a terrible eagerness. Every once in a while he seemed terribly rebellious. My father despaired. Isaac seemed to be losing his Christianity. He seemed inordinately fascinated, though, with other religions. He loved the Germanic and Norse myths—and reveled in the music of Richard Wagner, who retold those tales with such grandeur and power. Every once in a while, he’d give us a long harangue about how humans should have followed the path pointed out by the Northern European races—utter control of destiny. Rule with an iron hand, so that mortals might become gods. Then he’d just clam up and stew.
“As you may imagine, my father was very upset. The two of them had long, bitter arguments in the next two years.
“In the meantime, Isaac took a great deal of interest in the genetic vats. There was a lull in enmity between him and my father as my father taught him all he knew. I think my father actually believed th
at Isaac was coming out of his spell of dissatisfaction. So did me and my mother. For a time, he seemed friendly again, more openly human.
“Then one morning, he called all of us into the vat room. He said that he had something he wanted to show us. When we got there, he claimed he’d forgotten something and left.
“A minute later, the vat where he’d been born exploded.
“That’s what the authorities told me, anyway, All I knew was one moment I was standing in the room, laughing about something with my mother—and then I was just gone for a while.
“I woke up a year later, in a hospital. My body had been destroyed. But my brain had been saved. They fast-cloned the body, retarded its brain’s development so that sentience would not develop, then scooped it out, and made a cyborg of it. Then they put me into my new body, much the same as my old one.
“The explosion had blown my parents to shreds. No hope there. And no one could find Isaac, either. He’d simply vanished over into Morapn territory.”
“I was scared. I started to think about what Isaac had been talking about, the theories he’d developed. And he’d killed my parents. It was obvious that he hated humans ...
“He was brilliant. No telling how he might turn the Morapns against the human race.”
“I entered the Galactic Service and asked, when not specifically assigned elsewhere on other details, to be allowed and financed to try to investigate the possibility of threats from the Morapns.
“Well, I studied them as best as I could for three years, and you know what I found out? They are absolutely no threat. Oh, they could blow us away in a century. They’ve got the capability to develop simply incredible weapons. But they just don’t care, so long as we pose no threat to them. Something has gone wrong with their civilization. It’s decaying now, if not yet decadent. They’re just too apathetic to be decadent. They’re very absorbed in themselves and consider humans a minor annoyance, to merely be humored.
“And then, in the midst of my studies and my other assignments and various trainings, I caught wind, quite incidentally, of quite an astonishing Morapn that had surfaced on the human side of Raxes Three.”
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