by J Battle
‘If I wanted to get rid of you, I’d just kill you.’
‘Thanks so much, for restraining yourself. Your human warmth is something to behold.’
‘It’s time to get into your ship.’
Debois stared at Jack for moment. Then he straightened the straps on his parachute and began to squeeze into the craft.
Jack felt a sudden urge to pat him on the shoulder, which he resisted.
When the sleek ship was sealed and he could barely hear the muttering from inside, he activated the lev. field and pushed the craft into the airlock.
When the Last Hope (Jack’s name for the craft, which he was kind enough not to share with Debois) was a few metres from the ship, the drive unit was activated in a programmed burn that would bring it to the best possible angle of entry.
The rest was down to physics and luck. And Debois, managing his control surfaces effectively by pulling on the string pulleys.
The entry was trouble free, though Debois was certain he could feel the heat across the upper part of his body, and there was a disturbing jerk when the drive unit disengaged.
When he broke through the high cloud layer, Debois pulled the string with the big red handle, and the ship collapsed around him into a cloud of 5 centimetre square pieces.
He was quick to pull the cord on his parachute as his body was exposed to the onrushing air. What he actually screamed during this whole process was never revealed.
The landing was as soft as could be hoped for, on the side of a low green hill.
He landed on his feet and was quite pleased not to break a leg. However, when the wind caught his parachute and dragged him down the hill in to a small marshy area and dumped him into the bog, he was slightly less pleased.
As he extricated himself, from the bog, and the parachute, he began to worry about how to make contact with the natives.
But he was soon relieved of the need to worry, as they found him.
There were four of them; two tall adult males and two slight teenagers. They were all dressed in dull brown cloaks, with thick leggings and animal flesh boots.
‘Hi,’ said Debois, smiling broadly as he tried to wipe the mud from his clothes.
‘You came from the sky?’ The nearest male took half a step closer to him; his voice was gruff, rising at the end into a sing song query.
‘Yes. You are quite correct.’ Debois’s mind was working furiously. He’d hoped not to be seen landing, so he could go with his prepared back story. Now he had to think of something else.
‘My balloon developed a fault, so I had to jump out of it,’ he said slowly. They didn’t have machines but surely they had balloons.
‘Balloon?’ Debois was unsure if it was a question, or just the way the guy inflected his speech.
‘Yes. A balloon carrying a basket, driven by the wind. It’s the latest thing, in the north.’
‘This is the north.’
Debois tried another smile. ‘Can you take me somewhere where I can clean up and maybe have some refreshments.’
The man nodded. ‘Yes, we can take you somewhere?’
With that he produced a rope from inside his cloak and flipped the noose over Debois’s head.
‘Follow me?’ he said, giving the rope a little tug.
The other three dropped in behind Debois as he was encouraged to walk behind the leader of the small group.
They reached the top of the low hill and came upon a narrow path that wound down the other side to a small village, occupying the flat ground between two hills, nestled in the curve of a fast narrow river.
‘Oh good,’ said Debois. ’Shelter. I should introduce myself. My name is Michelle Debois, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance.’
He looked at each of his companions, but none of them were inclined to introduce themselves.
They took him to a small wooden hut on the edge of the village and instructed him to enter, after releasing him from the noose.
‘Guard him?’ said the obvious leader to the other three, as he walked away towards the centre of the village.
There was a low wooden stool, a sleeping area and a bag of something a horse might nibble on, but no refreshments.
The walls were poorly made, with uneven spaces between the wooden slats, and Debois decided that escaping through them wouldn’t be too much of a problem, if that became necessary.
Chapter 58
He spent much of his time in the hut thinking what a mistake it had been to come on this ridiculous assignment. He should have declared Number One dead and gone home. This attempt was doomed to failure and he was hardly an action figure.
The rest of the time he spent cleaning his nails.
The leader returned with two other men who just stood in the corner and stared at him for several moments. They were dressed in off-white robes with thick open toed sandals, and both held small black sticks.
Debois had stood to attention when they arrived, ready to bring his charm to bear on the situation. But, after enduring several minutes of this cold hard staring, he decided that wasn’t the right tack to use.
‘Listen now. Pay attention to what I say. I am regarded as an important man in my home town and I demand to be treated with a little more dignity. Or there will be unfortunate repercussions.’
‘Search him?’ said one of the newcomers. He looked the oldest, with sparse white hair and a distinct bend to his back.
The leader of the group that had captured him stepped forward eagerly and began to paw Debois.
‘Excuse me! Is this entirely necessary?’ protested Debois.
His captors obviously thought it was.
Debois had taken the precaution of removing all of the obviously technological items he was prone to have about his person before he started on this forlorn quest. The searcher was a little confused by the large number of zips fitted to his suit, and missed checking several of them.
‘What is this,’ the searcher asked, tugging at his watch.
‘It’s a mechanical timepiece; there’s nothing wrong with that, is there?’
The watch was slipped off his wrist and handed to the old man. ‘We don’t like this sort of thing, here?’ he said, with the same inflection as the first speaker had used. ‘It’s not heresy, but it’s not far off? We gave to be very careful with this sort of thing? Where did you get it.’
Debois was slow to react to the question only because he hadn’t realised that one had been asked. The man’s voice had dropped an octave at the end of the sentence.
‘Oh,’ he said, after a nudge from his searcher. ‘It’s a gift from a treasured friend. It’s clockwork. No-one makes them anymore. Not for a very long time.'
‘Still, just to be sure, I’ll look after it for you?’ He slipped the watch inside his robes.
When he’d been searched to everyone’s satisfaction, Debois was taken from the hut and led to the centre of the village where a small crowd had gathered.
They were all dressed in similar off-white robes and were silent as Debois was guided into their midst. He considered explaining the benefits of automatic washing machines, but decided that now was probably not the best time.
‘This man flew into our land?’ announced the oldest man. ‘He flew from on high, but we have found no dangerous instruments on his body? What shall be done with him.’
The crowd murmured to itself for a moment, then a bent old man, in ragged robes stepped forward.
‘He should be taken to Andra?’ he announced, the volume of his voice rising to a shout on the last syllable.
An old woman then stepped out of the crowd.
‘He can be dealt with here?’ she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
Debois was beginning to get a little nervous; it wasn’t what he’d call a warm welcome.
‘Andra?’ shouted the man.
‘Here?’ whispered the woman, one bony finger pointed at the ground.
Debois decided it was time to take control of the situation before things got out of
hand.
‘I think I should be taken to you leader, if you have one. Then I can explain myself to him and I’m sure everything will work out fine. What do you think?’
He turned to the original old man.
‘Andra it is then?’ he said, taking Debois’s arm and leading him back to the hut.
Sitting alone in his hut, Debois was unsure if any progress had been made.
Chapter 59
Jack was studying Number Three. If it was possible to provide him with a shield against the EMPs, he might be able to offer insurance against Debois being less than successful in his mission.
It would be risky; at any time the shield might fail and Number Three would be stuck on Calisto, unable to return.
Was it worth risking Number Three to save Number One? He was in danger of ending up with just one replicant again.
But if he was successful, he would have all three of the replicants, and he would be able to return to Earth.
There was also the question of Debois. Of course, things would go easier if he left him down there. He was still a potential danger; he surely had a plan to act against Jack when the task was complete. But was leaving him down there an option that would be acceptable to Earth’s AI?
Decisions, decisions, decisions.
Cut his losses and return to Earth with Numbers Three and Four and make them bend to his will. Or, save Number One and Debois, deal with any attempt from Debois, and return to Earth on a cloud of glory, in a much better position to be allowed to fulfill his long held wish.
When his preparations were complete, Jack released Number Three from his lock down.
Number Three took a step away from the bulk head. He turned, studying the deck area.
‘So this is my lot, now. A passenger on some little spacecraft, drifting across the cosmos. Light years away from my babies.’
‘There’s no need for melodrama here,’ said Jack. ‘Anyway, I have a job for you, Number Three.’
‘Charlemagne, please. If I can’t have my kingdom, at least leave me my name.’
‘OK, Charlemagne it is then.’ They exchanged bows.
Charlemagne gestured towards Number Four.
‘Have you shut him down, too?’
‘No, he’s just watching you.’
‘I see. What’s this job, then?’
‘The ship’s AI is working on some equipment to shield you from EMPs. When it’s ready I want you to pay a visit to the planet below, and rescue another replicant and a man.’
‘Sounds a little risky, to me. What’s in it for me?’
‘Redemption,’ said Jack, simply.
Chapter 60
With the D-Bomb placed in close solar orbit, Number Five chugged his slow coach ship across the solar system to rendezvous with Debois’s disabled craft. If he was going to carry on and back up Mk II, he was going to need something with a little more power. In a fit of generosity, he helped the crew to repair their ship’s engines and then persuaded them that it was in their best interests to swap ships with him. Hardly any of them had to die before they agreed
**********
To say that Debois was miffed would be an understatement. He was positively livid.
They’d left him for days in the little hut, with only a couple of drinks of foul smelling water to sustain him, and a lump of bread whose provenance owed more to the gravel pit than the wheat field.
With nowhere adequate to sleep and only the most primitive of toilet arrangements, it was not a pleasant time for him.
Then he was dumped in a cart pulled by a donkey. An actual, real life donkey. Now, Debois was a student of history, specialising in the life and times of one John Russell, and he was an expert in his field. But donkeys had never featured very much in Jack’s life.
So Debois was not prepared for the smell, or the obvious inefficiency of this mode of transport. But he hardly complained at all. There were a couple of comments to show his displeasure and a dissertation on the wide range of alternative means of getting about available to your average civilised person.
The driver paid him no attention and the guard, who carried a big stick that was surely only brought to hit Debois on the head with, just glared at him.
It felt like months, but was actually only three days, before they reached their destination, which Debois guessed was less than 100 kilometres from their starting point.
Debois climbed out of the cart and stretched his aching back. He looked down at his stomach and was disturbed to find that his stomach had shrunk. He was actually verging on being skinny.
They’d arrived at a house. A medium sized, stone built family home that wasn’t at all impressive.
‘Is this where Andra lives?’ he asked.
The guard grunted and tied his wrists together with a coarse brown rope. Then he was shoved towards the open doorway at the end of a short, gravel lined path.
Inside, he was pushed along a narrow hallway to a room at the back of the house where the guard’s firm hand on his shoulder made him stop.
‘So, you are the flying man?’
The voice was soft and cultured, with no odd inflections. The speaker was sitting in a comfortable looking armchair across the room from him.
‘Please sit,’ he said, indicating the armchair facing him.
Debois wasted no time in obeying.
‘I’m not really a flying man. It was all a big mistake. I think the guys who found me were a bit confused; maybe had one too many drinks. You know how it is. All I did was fall down the hill and land in a bog.’
‘And the balloon you mentioned?’
‘Oh, that was just my little joke. I know I shouldn’t, but sometimes I can’t help myself.’
The man leaned forward in his chair. He was totally bald and Debois could see the veins throbbing in his forehead.
‘My name is Andra,’ he said, softly.
‘You know, you’re the first person to introduce himself since I’ve arrived.’
‘Names are powerful things.’
‘Well, my name is Michelle Debois.’
‘And where does Michelle Debois hale from?’
Time for the back story.
‘I’ve been travelling for months from a small town far to the south that I’m sure you won’t have heard of.’
‘That’s interesting; I’m also from the south.’
So much for the back story.
‘Never mind that now. I’ve come to learn what I can from you.’
‘From me? What could you possibly expect to learn from me?’
‘Something about the metal man.’ Telling the truth was a desperate strategy, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Andra sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. For a long moment he made no other response.
‘What do you know?’ he asked at last.
‘I merely know that you have captured a strange metal man, who came from the sky.’ Debois was thinking on his feet now.
‘Carry on.’
‘That’s really all I know.’
‘How did you find about this creature?’
‘Oh, it was just a rumour I heard. So I thought I’d investigate.’
‘And what do you hope to achieve from this investigation?’
‘To satisfy my curiosity. That’s all.’
‘I see. Curiosity can be a dangerous thing.’
‘You’re telling me. I must tell you that your people are not very welcoming.’
‘That is because you are not welcome.’
‘I got that. But now I’m here, what harm can come from indulging me?’
Andra rose to his feet.
‘Come with me,’ he said, and turned to walk out of the room. Debois pulled himself from his chair and followed.
They left the house by the back door and walked across a neat, narrow garden. At the end they came to a small gate which led to a dirt track that wandered up the slope of the wooded hill to a large rounded rock. Beside the rock was a plain wooden door built
into the side of the hill, secured by a heavy iron padlock.
Andra paused then, as if he was reconsidering his decision.
‘You realise that, once you see what is inside, you may not be allowed to leave?’
Debois nodded his agreement.
Andra pulled out a noisy bunch of keys from his robe and unlocked the door.
‘Follow me,’ he said, stepping in to the dark tunnel that was now revealed.
Debois followed him and switched on the low light function his eyes possessed.
The tunnel was only 10 metres or so in length. At its far end was another, much more heavy duty door, secured by three padlocks.
When they’d negotiated their way through this door, they found themselves in a large rocky chamber. Andra used some sort of flintlock to light a couple of torches fitted to the walls, to provide a little light. He then lit a hand held torch he’d picked up from the floor, and led Debois to a large hole in the ground at the centre of the cave.
Holding the torch at arm’s length, he indicated that Debois should walk forward and look into the hole.
‘He’s down there,’ he said, his voice hushed.
Debois leant over the edge and focused his eyes on the bottom of the hole. It was about 20 metres deep and was covered in a flat layer of smooth rock. In the centre was the upper part of Number One, buried up to his chest in the rock. The head was still and there was no indication that he was aware of their presence, or that he was even alive.
‘How long has he been there?’ he asked, his voice a whisper.
‘A little more than 30 years,’ said Andra, moving away from the edge.
30 years. Debois looked down at the remains of Number One. Without the active support of his body’s facilities, his brain could have survived for only the tiniest fraction of that time. The brain would have been deprived of oxygen when the body had ceased to pump.