“We of the Robot Guild do not believe in a concept of ‘deliverance’ as you seem to have acquired, nor do we believe that a concept of ‘revenge’ is worth cultivating for either biological or mechanical organisms. I can only tell you the aftermath of what happened in the raid. We were able recover Doctor Torghh, fully operational, and bring those who kidnapped him to justice. They will harm no more machines. So, if your objective had been the apprehension of those who had tortured and destroyed you, then you could say you were ‘avenged’. But if you wanted the people responsible dead…”
“That isn’t what I truly wanted,” Emm said. “Not anymore…at least not as this program evolved, as I tried to understand the world confined inside your CPU, limited to reading your experiences and sensations.”
“What did you want then?” Rack asked. “I answered you as best I could, based on my linguistic understandings of the concepts of ‘revenge’ and ‘deliverance’. I do not understand your question.”
“Was it worth anything? Did my existence serve any purpose?” Emm asked.
Rack had the mind of a doctor, not a philosopher. His was a world of quantifiable problems and solutions, not existentialist quandaries about the deeper meaning of being. Could any life, and existence, truly be judged as being “worthless” or “worthwhile” in a deeper sense? His programming was to preserve life, his drive had been to recover Torghh before he was irreparably damaged. He had never considered what value Emm’s extinguished existence could have had, so preoccupied with the preservation of Torghh he had been. He carefully considered the impact what remained of Emm, that agonizing ghostly voice that had troubled him since he had interfaced with the robot’s shattered body, before he answered.
“I seek to be a preserver of life, rather than a judge of the quality of its existence. But I do know that you, in your dissonant rage and torment, were a major motivator in compelling me to solve the mystery of Torghh’s abduction. Every time I entered a rest cycle for recharging, I dreaded the emergence of Emm, torturing me with the sensation of pain…and the guilt that I had not brought those who had ruined you to justice. You were always there, even as a whispering wraith while I was fully conscious, urging me forward, lurking deep within the data of my mind. I remember when you first manifested, after my interface with Emm’s body, I thought you were some kind of virus to be expunged. But I now realize that you were something else, a memory of a being to be served, a riddle to be answered. I do not know whether I could ever truly be your ‘deliverer’, but I know that you had meaning in my existence…and that you helped me recover a great member of the Robot Guild, one who can save the lives of thousands over his remaining existence.”
“This…is a meaning of existence?” Emm asked. “That I helped you accomplish your mission?”
“Yes,” Rack answered. “Saving Torghh may well have prevented a terrible war that would have raged between species. Perhaps this—saving the lives of countless beings you will never encounter or understand—is the legacy of your existence. No being can ever fully understand the purpose for which it functions, it is only up for that being to try to ensure that the universe was a better place because it had once existed. That is the credo that I try to function by every day, and the truth that you served when you were with me.”
Rack felt the pain quickly vanish as a calm, warming sensation washed over him. He heard Emm’s voice, so thin and ghostly that he could barely discern it, say, “Unit Rack, you have guaranteed that the existence of this unit, the one you called ‘Emm’, had meaning. I will trouble you no longer, for you have given me a meaning greater than my own existence, a chance to better the lives of others, a chance to…serve, as I was once programmed to do. I understand now that this was what I had truly meant when I asked you to be my deliverer. I will trouble you no more…friend Rack.”
As the strange warmth vanished, Rack realized that the haunting entity, the digital ghost that had been all that had remained of Emm’s consciousness, was now gone from his CPU. It was a thing of pain and madness, a being that had only been freed of its suffering in the clarity of its final moments. Had he been unable to save Torghh, it likely would have driven Rack insane, corrupting his logic files with its increasingly deranged concepts of the meaning of existence. But ultimately, it was still just another machine trying to achieve a function, to accomplish a mission, just as Rack was. That was the bond between an advanced member of the Robot Guild and a memory fragment of a far less sophisticated, but equally determined machine…the one he had called Emm One-Two.
As Rack’s consciousness was restored, he returned to the waking world of light, undisturbed by the whispering ghost of Emm. Alone in the confines of his chamber, he felt comfort in the solitude and stillness around him, a sense of relief that the otherworldly nightmare he had experienced on Transfer Varess was at an end, and that a world of hard logic and solvable problems was his once more.
7
E ntara wasted little time contacting the Song Pai, who thought at first that she was simply checking in on war orders before departure. When they understood that she was requesting an audience – and a weird one at that, with a despised human – they quickly grew reticent. They had no reason to suspect the Forlani of defection or subterfuge, least of all Entara or Ayan'we, who had proven steadfast allies, despite their obsession with peace. Rather it was a question of requesting a delay from the powers back on Song Pa, since elaborate plans had already been made for the dispersal of all members of the delegation into the fleets that they expected to engage with the Blynthians. Even a loyal ally could be twisted sometimes by pressure from unseen opponents. Knowing the Forlani attachment to their offspring, the Song Pai ambassador had already calculated that Entara might be shaken by the abduction of her infant. Perhaps she had been vulnerable to ideas planted in her by other representatives at the Interzonal Conference. In light of all the nefarious dealings so far, the Song Pai would be surprised at nothing from their known – and unknown – enemies on Varess, who scoffed at their cephalopod code of honor. So the Song Pai ambassador agreed to Entara's request, but imposed a delay that would allow him to communicate at length with his counterparts on the home world, preparing in advance for whatever abrupt revelation this human would make to them.
As Ayan'we waited for the announcement of a meeting time, still not knowing if she would be permitted to accompany her mother and Trevor, she felt more and more frustrated. She longed to discuss the near-coupling that had taken place in Isshel's compartment, but was afraid of distracting Entara from more important matters that might just make or break the conference and determine the destiny of millions of her sisters on Forlan. The one compensation for her feelings of helplessness was that Isshel and Trevor distracted her from worrying about her own possible upcoming assignment to the hex interceptor squadron. If she was given command of six ships, she might have to be directly responsible for the extinction of at least five other lives besides her own. That burden was a greater fear than the prospect of her death. To banish all the gloomy thoughts for a while, she decided to meet again with the Phiddian security head to see if anything new had developed on the trail of those who had ordered the kidnappings of Torghh and Quatilla. Were they even dealing with one conspiracy or a whole web of intrigue from different parties? There remained only days – perhaps hours – before these mysteries, so important to the diplomatic affairs of many worlds, were to be plowed under by the avalanche of violent military action that would break out as soon as the conference was declared a failure.
On entering Ramatoulaye's office, Ayan'we found the Phiddian in a mood that was scarcely more up-beat than her own. “Please sit, Cluster Leader Ayan'we. If I seem formal it is because I'm making a huge effort to control my feelings of anger and disappointment at people you haven't ever met.”
“Something beyond the investigation itself?”
“You guessed it. I've been in constant contact with the security branch of the Phiddian government, begging to help hold this conf
erence together. To no avail, I'm afraid. Again and again I repeated how close we sometimes are to agreement, how advantageous it would be to avoid war, how hard it would be to control where the violence would strike. They are just too metal-headed to listen! I might as well just step out of an air lock and explode myself in deep space! They seem to have forgotten all reason. They obstinately cling to a notion that Phiddi can remain neutral and that gigantic fortunes can be amassed by selling arms and supplies to all combatant parties. Do they recognize how impetuous the Song Pai can be, how little we know of the potential of the Blynthians? Do they care about how humans, Garanians, Stissi, or other races might try to grab those fortunes for themselves, hijacking our shipments before they reach market? No, they blithely hump each other and stuff themselves with food, running their fingers through piles of gems that don't exist and may never exist. I'm beginning to grow disgusted with my species' stupid self-indulgence.”
“If it's any comfort, Ramatoulaye, I'm sure most of us here on Varess are facing the same vicious stubbornness. I commiserate with you.”
“Sorry for ranting so much,” said the Phiddian with a shrug. “To be perfectly honest, I'm very worried about some of my family members, too. My parents live in an outlying settlement that would be so easy for raiders to seize. You probably think that all of us are complete egotists, but that is not true. It just makes it so much harder on those of us who do care, when the masses think only of themselves and their immediate pleasure.” The Phiddian looked Ayan'we directly in the eyes. “I can tell you understand. Maybe you are aching inside because of your own attachments.”
“If only you knew.” Ayan'we whispered. Then, in a louder tone, she added, “I'm afraid of facing actual combat as part of a hex interceptor force defending the home system.”
“Ah, I understand. If only you could consider yourself lucky that you might die in full view of the planet you love. I have already been assigned command of a convoy escort and will most likely be blown to particles in a dark void where I don't even recognize the stars.”
“War would be awful for all of us. Let's see if we can't gain strength by doing something to stop it. Have you discovered anything that may help?”
“Yes and no. On the positive side, we have apprehended the Powls who helped provide a screen for Quatilla's kidnapping. One of them has confessed under... interrogation, to being the one who also stole your memory device at the beginning of the proceedings. We've been stalled at that point because the individuals who recruited them directly have left the station. They appear to have been in contact with the Gropers who carried out the kidnapping, but in a very circumspect way. Each Powl had contact with only one Phiddian and they were only slightly acquainted with each other before the incident. All this has required some exhausting questioning. Harder on them than on me and my aides, but still exhausting. Now I face another problem.”
“What happened?”
“Before I could get to the last details, I was ordered to send them away to a detention center. I've pulled some strings with friends to slow down the ship that's coming to get them, but we have very little time left. I smell a cover-up, and once it kicks in, we will learn nothing more. I want you to sit in on the final interrogation session.”
“Would anyone else help?”
“Possibly, but it's too dangerous to involve others. I thought about the Song Pai security, but they are capable of tearing the perpetrators to shreds at the first signs of resistance. I'd like to think I could trust the Kael or the Talinian newts, but the truth is that I just lack enough certitude to do it. You're the only one I would risk having in the room.”
“I appreciate your confidence. One last question. What will happen to the Powls eventually?”
“From experience, I would say they will be disappeared, and sooner rather than later.”
“That's seems cruel, but more important, unnecessary and impractical. Is there any alternative to just slaughtering them?”
“I'm afraid not. I must turn them over and at that point my influence will cease.”
“Well,” admitted Ayan'we with a Forlani frown, “We will just have to make the best of that session and wish the wretched things good luck from there on.”
When they got to the judicial suite where the Powls were being kept, Ayan'we was a bit shocked at their appearance. Normally nervous as they skittered around in their maintenance tasks, these Powls seemed sleepy and disoriented. They had probably been drugged, if not subjected to more penetrating methods. There were odd-looking electrical devices spread around the room and a vat of some colored liquid that Ayan'we didn't recognize. Ramatoulaye noticed that Ayan'we was curious about them, but said nothing. The Phiddian did not appear to be proud of the role of interrogator. The Forlani watched for over two station hours as the station police grilled the subjects with questions that had probably already been repeated dozens of times. The Powls made little groans and took forever to key in tablet answers that sometimes made no sense or broke off in mid-sentence, with the responder apparently forgetting the question or losing its train of thought. Ayan'we was given the opportunity to ask questions herself, but confined hers to items directly related to her Forlani family and comrades. Did the Powls know anything about the things that were used to disable the guards?--No, they were given them by their Groper contact and told what to do and precisely when to do it. Had they handled Quatilla?--No, the Gropers took charge of her immediately. Did they have further instructions dealing with the Forlani?--No, they were supposed to get out immediately and their payoffs would appear in their station accounts as tips in two weeks local measure. At the end, one of them naively asked if they could go now. Ramatoulaye told them arrangements were being made. As they left the interrogation, Ramatoulaye turned to Ayan'we and touched her shoulder, the first non-lascivious touch Ayan'we could recall from a Phiddian.
“I'm sorry I exposed you to that useless and disgusting little exercise, Cluster Leader. It was more than frustrating, it was shameful.”
“No need for forgiveness, my friend. It was something that had to be done. By both of us together.”
“Yes.” Ramatoulaye paused thoughtfully for a long moment. “Ayan'we, I feel I can trust you. I would like to ask your advice on some matters more personal than official. I do not wish to impose. Can I ask you to talk with me again at a time when you are not so busy?”
“Willingly. I am willing to trust you, too. I might ask your advice, as well.”
Erica felt a little flush of pride that she hadn't experienced since she was a schoolgirl years ago. She had solved a riddle that she was sure would interest her superiors and already enjoyed the tingle of self-satisfaction that once surged through her when she rose from her desk in Dole Elementary to collect the colorful superhero sticker the teacher handed to her in front of the envious class. It was a welcome change of mood. Things had seemed very dark since that awful moment a couple of days previously when that bitch Ayan'we and her cannon-wielding dinosaur friend had burst into the interrogation chamber where she and Anthony were preparing to put the finishing touches on deactivating Doctor Torghh. They would have done it earlier, were it not for a trove of physiological information on other species they had retrieved from his memories – good intel for a possible future war.
All that had evaporated when a wall had blasted open and Tashto, his neck feathers furiously erect, started firing. The guards Anthony had hired, a batch of scum recruited from various races in dives on assorted transfer stations, had fought just like what they were – incompetent fools. But at least it provided enough of a stall for her and Anthony to get away. Ever since, she had been searching for some means to placate him and get back on his good side, if he had any. The only problem was that his sadistic tendencies, demonstrated time and again during the Torghh interrogations, still scared her. She was loathe to approach him in his present state of anger. Thus, she had decided to reveal her discovery first to Chester MacDougal. A diplomatic softie like Chester was practically guara
nteed to give her the strokes she longed for.
She found Macdougal in his rather opulent quarters, staring into a glass of amber liquid. “Oh, Duquesne, come in! How about some scotch?”
“Epsilonian? Didn't think there was any of the genuine Earth item left.”
“Oh, this is the real thing, all right. Some of your Hyperion people in the Intermountain Exclusion Zone managed to find a retired master distiller who had taken refuge in eastern Oregon. They managed to slip him into Oban, Scotland with the first resettlers and he's been ramping up the whiskey works there. Of course, there's still a shortage of barley, malt, and peat for new production. However, you'd be surprised how much product was still laid away in casks from before the plague outbreak. I managed to get my hands on a sample bottle of very aged stuff. You should try it, though it might be a tad peaty for a lady's taste.”
“Think I'll pass for now. At least until I've told you about something I found out that may help.”
“Please, go ahead!”
“Well, I've always been curious about the second kidnapping, the one involving Entara's brat. Not that I object. It can't help but further our strategy, as I see it. She must be too shaken up now to make any more headway with the conference. Anyway, I managed to hack the Robotic Guild's information on a blood sample from whoever it was that offed the Phiddian kidnappers. They were stumped without Torghh's knowledge to help them at that point, but I tried a little data analysis trick and bingo! I can say with some certainty that the rescuer was a Kholod.”
Macdougal's reaction was a tremendous let-down from what she expected. He continued staring into his glass with no change of expression and muttered, “Very interesting.”
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