Worlds Apart 02 Edenworld

by James Wittenbach

  Honeywell was also less optimistic than the captain. “Can you take him down if he does try to kill us like everything else on this planet?”

  “I think so.” Scort removed a tool from her kit and squeezed the activator, producing a bright-blue, crackling bolt of energy. She inserted it into the aperture she had opened in the automech’s back. “If he goes berserker, I’ll sever the gray thing that’s probably the connection to his primary power coupling.”

  “Probably…” Alkema said?

  Keeler was uncharacteristically terse. “Just turn it on…”

  Honeywell gestured for the rest of the party to take shelter in the ditches. They ducked low and watched as Scout jammed a long pointed tool deep into the robot’s innards, then gave him a fresh volt of electromagnetic power. There was a flash of orange and green sparks and a crackle of electric discharge. A weak scent of ozone wafted into the muggy air. The automech slowly bent upwards, straightening his posture. Two red gleams came into his eyes, but there were no other outward signs of animation.

  Everything and Buttercup took up defensive postures, pointing heavy swords at the automech, doubting whether they could do anything to stop it should it move against them. Slowly, it rose to its full height, which was something in excess of three meters. It shook its arms from the shoulders, as though working out kinks. There was a kind of crunching shriek as the long frozen metal moved again.

  The robot’s head swiveled a full three-hundred-sixty degrees, slowly, as though taking in the surrounding area. It stopped on the spot where Keeler, Scout, Alkema, and the two Marines were standing. It paused a moment, and then it spoke.

  “George Borrows Things,” said the Lingotron.

  “What did it say?” Alkema asked.

  “George Borrows Things,” repeated the automech.

  Keeler raised his eyebrows. “Apparently, it’s ratting out George.”

  “George Borrows Things,” it repeated again.

  “Za, we got that part. Is there a problem with the Lingotron.”

  Alkema was already on it. “Neg, the Lingotron in fact is telling us that he is communicating in a language very close to the ancient Mandarin baseline.”

  “Perhaps our understanding of the …”

  “George Borrows Things,” the automech said one last time.

  “I think I got it, Captain,” Alkema said. “He’s been altering his tonality slightly each times he repeats the phrase.”

  Keeler understood and nodded. “Trying to find his voice.”

  “Identify…” Suddenly, a bright blue beam shot out from its forehead and washed out over the small group. Keeler and Alkema ducked instinctively. The Marines brandished their weapons. Sport lunged for the gray thing.

  “Identity confirmed.” The beam disappeared. “Welcome to EdenWorld. This unit is identified as George Borrows Things. This unit will provide for your needs for the duration of your presence here. Please address this unit with any commands at any time.”

  They stood in stunned silence. Not only had something on this world not tried to kill them, it seemed to be offering to help.

  Captain Keeler was the first to break the silence. “Do you know what this means?”

  “I can take my hand off the gray thing?” Scout suggested.

  “He addressed us as visitors to the planet. He knows about space travel. This automech may have been active during the colonial era,” Keeler said so breathlessly he might have been on the verge of passing out. He moved in a slow semi-circle around the machine. Scout pulled her tool out of the automech slowly. “It sure as hell wasn’t built around here. Not recently in any case.”

  Keeler addressed the automech. “Do you know when you were built.”

  “My internal chronometer indicates initialization occurred 25,613,193-point-8535 hours ago.”

  “Three thousand two hundred and sixty seven years ago,” said Alkema

  “I can do the math,” Keeler snapped. “Were you built here, on this world? Or were you built elsewhere, and transported here?”

  “There is no such data recorded in my memory core,” the automech answered. “I only retain data gathered since my most recent activation. Anything recorded during a prior operational period is erased.”

  Alkema understood. “In other words, you die when someone shuts you off, and when you’re turned back on again, you start over on a completely clean slate.”

  “Except for autonomous functional routines that are hard-wired into my circuitry, that is correct.”

  “How interesting.” Keeler said with huge disappointment.

  “When was your last de-activation?” Alkema asked.

  “This unit last was last activated 6,640,480-point-0032 hours ago.”

  “It looks like you’ve been out here for a long time.”

  “According to my internal chronometer, I have been immobile for the last 685,216.0114

  hours. I was struck by a lightning discharge, which fused several locomotion actuators. I put myself in stand-by mode at that time to minimize power consumption.”

  They paused to take this in, and in the space of silence, the robot asked, “Do you require additional information about this unit, or would you like to input a request. If so, please state your primary objective.”

  It was Alkema who answered the request. “We are trying to reach the Temple of the Z’batsu at Chiban Prefecture.”

  “This thoroughfare leads directly to Chiban Prefecture. I will accompany you there.”

  Keeler, Alkema, and Scout looked at each other at the same time. “I think it intends to come with us,” Scout said. “It said ‘will’ not ‘can’.”

  “Indeed, sir. It is the responsibility of this unit to serve the requirements of travelers. You are travelers. If your requirement is to reach the Z’batsu of Chiban Prefecture, then I am responsible to lead you there. I can also provide protection and forewarning.”

  “Protection and Forewarning?”

  “There are numerous hazards to human life along the Goldstone Highway. Dragons, vampires, werewolves, and ogres represent a few of the more common hazards.”

  Keeler looked at Alkema. “I was wrong, this guy has been around.” Keeler was studying the machine intently, contemplating the irony of it all. Here was a machine that had functioning since the colonial era, and probably could have kept records of everything that had transpired in it lifespan. That it had been preserved at all was an accident of the culture in which it had been left. That same culture, placing no value on its historical significance, had allowed its most valuable component, its memory, to be erased over and over again. As they stood contemplating this, the automech’s head raised upward, telescoping. “George Borrows Things wishes to make a suggestion.”

  “Go ahead,” Keeler said.

  “George Borrows Things suggests that you shelter yourself in the ditches beside the roadway, and take defensive positions.”

  Honeywell tensed, “Why?”

  “There are individuals approaching who might do you physical harm. George Borrows Things can protect you.”

  “There are … people approaching.” Everything confirmed with his tactical tracker. Keeler nodded. “Let’s go.” Everything, Alkema, and Sport joined him in a hasty retreat to the underbrush, Honeywell covering their tails. The automech’s head slowly came down until it rested again on his shoulders. It then made itself absolutely still, still as a statue. Two figures came up the Goldstone Freeway. At first, Keeler thought they might be humans, being human-shaped and having only one pair of arms each. They were dressed not much better than the boy had been when they found him. Their heads were topped with mound of thick, shaggy hair, and their noses seemed somewhat pointed. When one turned in their direction, Keeler saw his eyes were glowing red like coals in a campfire. The other raised his head in the air and sniffed. Picking up a scent, he turned toward the party’s hiding place. Everything gripped her heavy sword. Across from them, Keeler saw Bihari clamp her hand, tightly but lovingly, over the young bo
y’s mouth. On Everything’s Tactical Tracker, the two figures were undergoing a transformation. They had dropped to all fours and their bodies were starting to spasm. Keeler touched the Tracker where the figure’s faces were and zoomed in. Their faces getting longer, and their teeth longer and more pointed. Shoulders and hips were transforming into haunches.

  Just when they seemed ready to move toward the ditch, the automech wheezed and discharged a stinking puddle of industrial lubricant. Its acrid stench stank up the air so bad even the landing party in the ditches where holding their noses.

  On the lycanthropes, the effect was intensified twenty-fold, they howled out and reflexively ran as far away from the auto-mech as they could.

  “Interesting technique,” Keeler said, brushing dirt from his uniform.

  “Sometimes the greatest strength of an enemy is the greatest weakness,” the automech explained. “My waste products have a particularly pungent aroma, which overwhlems the advance olfactory systems of the slave-guardians.”

  “Werewolves?” Keeler asked the automech.

  “Many of the estate Lords employ them as guardians over their slaves. Some of them also work independently as slave-chasers. Is there a slave in your party?”

  Keeler called to Bihari. “Bring the boy!”

  Bihari brought the child from the side of the road. He was walking now, mildly sedated. He seemed frightened of the machine but with Dr. Bihari keeping a protective, motherly brown arm across his chest, he did not run away.

  “What do you know of this child?”

  “I am unacquainted with this individual.”

  “Do you recognize where he might come from? What societal class?”

  “May I see the back of his neck,” the robot asked. Gently, Bihari turned the boy around and raised the thick sheaf of black hair at the back of his head. There was a design tattooed into his skin, blue and red lines linked by black squiggles.

  “I do not recognize the markings,” said the robot. “It is similar to a design used to mark the slave caste of Idoh Prefecture.”

  “Slave caste?”

  “Affirmative, you can see he has no paranormal abilities. The society on this planet is structured rigidly according to people’s paranormal abilities.”

  “So, we had surmised.”

  “His caste is usually used for menial chores, guarding crops, cleaning streets, clearing land for planting, harvesting. They are maintained on the edge of starvation from a young age, it weakens their will.” The robot paused momentarily. “Unconscionable treatment.”

  Keeler had a sense that the machine was scanning him, and had toned its response to match his reaction. If Keeler had been unmoved, or even contented by the description of the boy’s treatment, the mechanoid would have said something agreeable. A heartless attitude, Keeler thought, but probably critical to the survival of a machine on a primitive world. Also, probably part of the machine’s original, hard-wired programming. Note that for later, Keeler thought to himself.

  Bihari spoke up. “We think the abuse has resulted in retardation.”

  “The slaves are taught only what they need to know in order to serve the Lords and Masters. He is still a child, though. The damage is reparable. Is that why you are taking him to the Z’batsu?”

  “Why?” Keeler asked.

  “I have memories of another slave caste boy, who was actually the son of a Lord captured in a military confrontation and reduced to slavery. When his father recovered him, he spent all his remaining fortune undertaking a journey to Chiban in hopes that the Z’batsu could restore him. The Z’batsu have healing centers capable of dealing with any medical emergency a visitor may suffer.”

  George Borrows Things paused. “It is critical for this unit to return to Chiban Prefecture. I would recommend an expedited departure.”

  Before he could ask why, Sport showed Keeler some readings on her tracker. “When we activated him, he began to draw on his internal energy reserves. His power sources are incompatible with our own. Unless we can get him new power cells, or recharge his current ones, he’ll run out of power in less than sixty-nine hours.”

  “I think we have plenty of incentive to keep moving with or without Georgie here,” Keeler said. He turned to Honeywell. “Let’s move on.”

  Eden – The Farside

  The biggest health threat to Beta Team proved to be boredom. As the long cold night drew on and on about them, there was little to do. When the agro-botanist had been offered the opportunity to tour the greenhouse crops grown deep in caves to protect them from the cold, fully half the crew had opted to join, even those whose closest connection to vegetation was an occasional side-salad.

  Redfire, however, found himself exploring a landscape far more challenging than the mountains of the Farside, and had discovered a survival instinct even stronger than the cave-dwelling plants.

  “... and so they asked me, what was my judgment,” Winter said, about to conclude an anecdote regarding a property dispute in Green Witch, which she had been called to mediate.

  “So, I told them, prepare a meal of beans and rock-worm paste and feed it to Akio. We will keep him for three days, during which time, Shia may examine his output. If the gemstone he claims Akio has swallowed does not appear, Shia will pay him six strips of red silk.”

  Redfire broke out in a howling laugh such as no one had ever heard from him before. The mission zoologist poked her head up from her station, just to see that he was all right.

  “You are a woman of ceaseless amazements,” he said.

  She favored him with a honeyed sigh. “It is not easy living here. Not everyone recognizes that being free is not the same not being a slave. It’s all they’ve known.”

  “But surely, most of them have been born in Green Witch, and some have had ancestral ties here for generations before.”

  “Truth, but for most of them, there is no other way but the Lords and the Scions. I could go overland from here to the village of the Journey’s End, but they would receive me as a stranger. They dislike Green Witch as much as any of the Prefectures, and they re-instituted slavery. Slaves as masters over slaves. There is no Scion yet, but there is council of Overlords, all of whom own slaves.”

  She had a way of making conversation sound like poetry, Redfire thought. He had a momentary vision of honey-dew falling from her lips and into his. With a small sense of alarm, he realized these improper thoughts were bothering him less and less. Redfire stared into his folded hands for a moment, then spoke. “I wish I could show you how we live on my ship. I wish you could see the homes we live in, the ship’s gardens. I wish you could know that there is a better way of life to aspire to.”

  “Always so eager to get me up to that ship of yours.”

  “The ship would be a wonder to you. I could show you things you can not imagine.”

  “Perhaps, I do not wish to see anything I can not imagine.” She put a hand lightly on his cheek. “When you see the sun return to my side of the planet, you will look upon a wonder beyond your imagination as well.”

  Redfire felt someone standing over them and turned up to see Flight Lt. Ironhorse. How long he had been standing there? In Ironhorse’s small, dark eyes was a burning intensity, as though he were very angry about something. Only in his eyes did he betray it.

  “A man from the village has come to the ship. He is requesting… her. ”

  Winter rose slowly from the couch, letting her hand linger at Redfire’s shoulder. “I will see him.”

  Redfire stood as well. “I’ll go with you.”

  As they passed Ironhorse, he did not turn, would not look at them. Redfire, also, kept his eyes directed at the deck plating.

  “Have you seen the latest Mission Report from Alpha Team,” Ironhorse asked.

  “Neg.”

  “They have been attacked twice by hostile natives. Two of their party were killed.”

  Redfire paused for a second but did not turn back. “Captain Keeler?”

  “He is fine.”


  “Then, I am sure he knows what he is doing,” Redfire said, half absently, following Winter out the hatch. The cold dry air froze the inside of Redfire’s nostrils. Standing near the fire was a man of diminuitive stature. He was covered in animal skins and rags. A long brown scarf, caked with frost and mud, was wrapped around his face, showing only his eyes.

  “Tanawa,” said Winter.

  “Lady, a rider has come to the village. He bears a message of utmost urgency.” He extended a hand, raw and dry, cracked from the cold, so small it might have been a boy’s hand. Winter took the dirty scroll of paper of paper from him and stepped closer to the light of the fire to read it.

  “A leader never truly rests,” Redfire muttered.

  The messenger seemed to take great offense at this. “She is not our leader, we have no leader. She is our Guardian-Protector.”

  Redfire scowled at him. “Guardian-Protector?”

  “You’ve said enough, Tanawa, now go!”

  “... but.”

  “Go home and rest, Tanawa. You have done well.”

  The messenger looked at her for a moment as though he were going to say something, then turned and walked back toward the village with his shoulders drooping. There was no way to tell how old this Tanawa was, but Redfire sensed he was older than his years.

  “This is not good,” said Winter grimly.

  “What?”

  “An escape party is supposed to reach the outpost at Land and Sea, by dawn today, but their guides were caught in a storm. A patrol of Chasers from Aswan Prefecture is operating in that area. Only last week they found a party of runaways. They killed the women and girls, sent the men and boys back into Aswan.”

  “I thought you said they seldom sent chasers to the Far Side?”

  “The Aswanees lost many slaves in a rebellion two years ago. They’ve been aggressive about using escaped slaves to rebuild their stocks.”

  Redfire’s eyes searched upward, as though a plan was taking shape in the air above Winter’s head. “How many slaves in the escape party?”