Imperium Chronicles Box Set
Page 60
“Yeah?”
“There’s a story about a place, rubbish probably, but it might be true... anyway, there’s a legend about it. Now what was it exactly?”
“I’ve no idea...”
“Travelers say you can hear a woman singing, but nobody’s there — Yes, that’s it! — Mysterious singing, but nobody can figure out the source.”
Maycare stared at him incredulously. “So?”
“So?” Woodwick replied with equal incredulousness. “You should go investigate! That’s what you do, surely!”
“You have some drunken memory and you want me to investigate?”
“I’m not snockered, I assure you!” Woodwick protested. “Sod it, entertain yourself then!”
Both men crossed their arms and stared ahead solemnly. On the court, Westford scored another goal and the crowd jumped to their feet in jubilation. Benson, Maycare’s robot who had been largely ignored up to that point, waved his pennant.
Lords Maycare and Woodwick remained in their seats.
Still riding a Centauri warrior, Sir Golan arrived at the Pellion camp along with the others.
The Pellions were a nomadic race and the tents of their camp were a reflection of that. Built from canvas, the tents were longer than they were wide, with wooden poles propped in the middle to hold up the tarpaulin roofs. Cooking fires burned at the center of the camp with the tents stretching outward like the spokes of a wheel.
The knight dismounted and helped pull Squire off the other warrior’s back. The robot lost his balance and landed on his metallic backside. Several young Centauri watching this spectacle laughed at Squire’s expense.
“Most undignified,” the robot muttered, getting back up.
Qadan pointed his spear at the long tent to the North. “The Herd Father will see you there.”
The flaps of the Herd Father’s dwelling were lined with fur that Sir Golan pulled to one side as he entered. Behind him and Squire, Qadan and the other warriors followed, their spears remaining at the ready. Inside the tent, a heavy fog of smoke filled the space, much of the front area taken up by resting Pellions, most of them female. Toward the back, several male Pellions were lying down, drinking from wine bottles.
At the head of this group, on a carpet of colorfully woven fibers, a large Pellion sat. Compared to the others, his antlers were significantly larger and had more points. He also had a long dark beard which he stroked while taking another pull from his bottle.
Qadan came to the front.
“Greetings, Batuhan,” he said. “We caught these strangers for your judgment. They had defiled the sacred place.”
Batuhan raised his great antlers, surveying the knight and his robot. He frowned.
“Why have you desecrated our holiest of sites?” the Herd Father asked loudly.
Sir Golan bowed deeply before resting on one knee. He motioned at Squire to follow suit.
“As I told your warrior,” the knight said. “We are strangers in this land. We meant no offense and ask humbly for your forgiveness.”
Batuhan stood and approached the knight who remained on one knee. Along with his antlers, the Herd Father was well over six and a half feet tall, towering over Sir Golan. Hazarding to glance up, the knight saw Batuhan’s dark eyes staring down on him. They were bloodshot, and the pupils enlarged.
The Herd Father blurted out a laugh, his expression changing from serious to amused.
“Of course!” he bellowed. “Come have a drink as an honored guest!”
While Sir Golan was deeply relieved, he heard Qadan grunting his disapproval.
Being a butlerbot was not an easy job and Benson had rather large shoes to fill. Lord Maycare’s previous robot, Bentley, had known Maycare since he was a boy. When the butlerbot was destroyed, it left a gaping hole in Maycare’s heart that Benson was keenly aware needed filling. This was a tall order for an older model robot. He wasn’t sure his programming would measure up.
In the Maycare family mansion in the West End of Regalis, Benson entered the library to check on his master’s two assistants, Professor Jessica Doric and Henry Riff. He found Doric at a table stacked with books and a silver tray with two empty cups.
“May I bring you more coffee, Professor Doric?” the butlerbot asked.
The face of a woman in her early thirties peered out from behind an open book. Her straight, dish-water blond hair was poorly combed and her dull brown eyes had a sleepy glaze to them. “Huh?”
“More coffee?”
“Oh, god yes!” she replied, disappearing again behind the book cover.
Not seeing the young man named Henry, Benson searched the library until he found him lying on a leather coach in front of one of two large fireplaces located at either end of the room. The flames in the fireplace were a simulation, a hologram with a thermal emitter behind it. Lengthwise on the sofa, Henry was also buried in a book, but it lay across his face.
“Mister Riff?” the robot asked but heard only quiet snoring.
He gently removed the book, revealing a man in his twenties with freckles and the pink imprint of the book crease on his forehead. Extending his metallic finger, the robot gave Henry a nudge in the ribs.
“What?” Henry awoke with a start, nearly sliding off the couch. “What’s going on?”
“Sorry to wake you, Mister Riff,” Benson said.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” Henry replied, wiping his eyes.
“Professor Doric has requested more coffee. Would you like me to bring you some as well?”
“Extra cream and sugar?”
The robot bowed. “Of course.”
Benson turned to leave, but Henry stopped him.
“Hey,” he said.
“Yes?” the robot replied.
“How are things going?” Henry asked.
“Going where?”
“I mean, how are you fitting in and everything?”
Benson paused for a moment before answering. “It’s been an adjustment for... everyone.”
Henry gave a long, toothy grin. “I bet!”
“I’m told my predecessor was destroyed in this room...”
“Yeah, it was terrible.”
“How would you describe the previous butlerbot?”
“Oh, I don’t think Bentley liked me too much,” Henry replied, “but he was a good robot. He was more than just a butlerbot to Lord Maycare. He was like a friend.”
“A robot as friend?” Benson asked doubtfully.
“Sure, why not? I mean, Lord Maycare knew him his whole life. I don’t think anybody else was always there for him like Bentley.”
“Biologicals don’t usually seek such relationships from cyberlings,” Benson said and then after another pause, “But I suppose it’s possible.”
“Anything’s possible, right?” Henry laughed.
Benson returned with a service tray and two steaming cups of coffee to find that Lord Maycare had joined the other two humans. All three were gathered at the main table where Doric had been sitting, their expressions of listlessness also shared.
The robot placed the tray on the table, sliding a few books out of the way in the process. Without acknowledging Benson’s presence, Maycare took one of the cups without asking who it was for. The butlerbot raised a finger, knowing that cup was for Henry, but remained silent.
“I can’t believe you haven’t found anything, Jess,” Maycare said, taking a sip. His eyes squinted. “Too much sugar...”
Doric’s face turned crimson. “You know we’ve been scouring these books for weeks!”
“Warlock Industries has an army of researchers searching databases across the Imperium,” Maycare replied. “Who knows what they’ve turned up already?”
“Well, maybe you should hire more people for the Institute?” she countered. “You keep expecting Henry and me to do the work of a staff ten times as big!”
Sitting between Maycare, who was standing, and Doric who remained in her chair, Henry was slowly shrinking into his own seat. His ey
es were fixed at a random spot on the table where his happy place was apparently located. He had told Benson of this mythical locale, but the robot had never fully understood what he was talking about.
“You’ve never complained about staff before!” Maycare scoffed, waving his cup around, oblivious of the coffee spilling on the fine rug at his feet. “What’s changed?”
Doric crossed her arms. “I don’t know!”
In the silence that followed, it occurred to Benson that these people should not be drinking more caffeine. Before he could consider removing the tray, Henry spoke up. “Maybe we’ve found everything already,” he suggested meekly.
Both Maycare and Doric scoffed loudly in unison.
“Unlikely,” Doric replied.
“I hope not,” Maycare said.
“Why?” Henry asked.
“There must be countless undiscovered artifacts,” Doric said. “We just need to keep looking.”
Maycare lowered his head, staring at the floor and the newly stained rug.
“I’m sorry I lost my temper,” he said after a long pause.
Doric shrugged. “Me too.”
“I didn’t lose my temper—” Henry started.
“It’s just I’ve been bored silly of late,” Maycare went on. “If we don’t get a lead on something soon, I’m going to lose my mind...”
“May I make a suggestion?” Benson said.
The others suddenly stared at him as if he had magically materialized into the room.
“Well,” the robot continued, “what about that phenomenon Lord Woodwick mentioned?”
“What phenomenon?” Maycare asked, the cup in his hand hovering somewhere near his mouth.
“He referred to a mysterious singing, I believe. He seemed to think you should investigate it.”
“Bentley — I mean Benson — that’s just one of Winnie’s idle conversation pieces,” Maycare replied. “He probably made it up.”
“Oh,” the robot said. “Pardon my interruption.”
“Actually,” Henry remarked, “I remember hearing something about that.”
Maycare glanced at him, his eyebrow cocked. “Really?”
“Don’t get excited,” Doric said. “I read about it too, but I’m sure it’s just a legend.”
“Excited?” Maycare asked. “I haven’t even begun to get excited!” He pointed at Benson while tossing his empty coffee cup on the table. “Get my ship ready!”
Sir Golan, with Squire standing nearby, knelt beside the Herd Father who drank periodically from his wine bottle. A female Pellion brought the knight the roasted leg of a bird from which he took a tentative bite before tearing into it with gusto. Batuhan, seeing the stranger enjoying the meal, laughed.
“Try some of this too,” the Herd Father suggested, offering his bottle.
Sir Golan, hesitant to set down the bird leg, kept it in one hand while grasping the offered bottle with the other. After he took a deep gulp, euphoria overtook him immediately.
“What is this?” the knight asked.
Batuhan rubbed the thick hair on his bare chest and smiled.
“It’s a special wine we make from a berry that grows on the steppes here,” he said. “Do you like it?”
Sir Golan coughed before answering. “Yes.”
“Are you feeling alright, Sir?” Squire asked. “You seem distressed.”
“On the contrary,” the knight replied. “I feel outstanding!”
“I’m glad to hear it!” Batuhan said, slapping Sir Golan on the back. “You’ve come at a good time...”
“Why is that?”
“This is our Winter Feast,” the Herd Father went on. “We celebrate before traveling to the sacred place where Qadan found you and your robot.”
“My name is Squire, by the way—”
“Why is it sacred?” Sir Golan asked.
“Each year around this time, our antlers come loose so we travel to the sacred place where we have a ceremony and place our antlers on the pile. It’s our way of honoring the passing of another season and all the Pellions who fell during the previous year.”
“That’s beautiful,” Sir Golan said, tears welling up in his eyes as he tore another piece of meat off the bone.
Batuhan, barely able to coordinate his limbs, slapped Sir Golan on the shoulder. “You should come!”
“What?” the knight replied.
“You should come along and see for yourself.”
The warrior Qadan, who had refrained from taking part in either the roasted bird or the wine, was enraged.
“Out of the question!” he shouted. “You can’t bring an outsider to our sacred gathering!”
“I’m the Herd Father!” Batuhan roared back. “I can do whatever the hell I want!”
“I don’t mean to cause any bother,” Sir Golan said.
“Think nothing of it,” Batuhan replied, eying Qadan with dark, bloodshot eyes. “My warrior oversteps himself. Apparently, he’s forgotten who leads this herd!”
Qadan grimaced and lowered his head. “My apologies.”
The Herd Father gave Sir Golan another playful shove and the knight slowly toppled over.
“You’re my welcome guest,” Batuhan said, pointing at the prostrate knight. “Tomorrow we’ll head to our hallowed spot and celebrate together!”
Sir Golan heard the Herd Father’s bellowing voice drift off and grow quieter as if moving across the steppes. The voice faded entirely as the knight fell asleep.
Chapter Three
Beside the Regalis River, while sailboats cruised up and down the waterway, Randall Davidson lay on his back in the grass. With his eyes closed, he felt the warm wind of Summer blowing lightly over his brown skin and short, curly hair.
He took a breath and smiled. The park by the river was his favorite place in the capital. He only wished he could stay longer.
Getting to his feet, Davidson brushed the loose, dried grass from his pants and headed down to the shore. Ducks were swimming and people were dropping bits of bread for them to eat. Davidson leaned over the railing to stare into the waves, but his reflection was a surprise. Instead of a man in his thirties, he saw a robot with metal skin and electronic eyes.
Gasping for air he didn’t need, Davidson woke in his quarters on Bettik, the robot home world. The memories of being human faded along with the dream as the reality of his past dissolved into the present.
The Metal Messiah was once again awake.
Davidson sat up in bed and put his mechanized feet on the cold floor. Although robots didn’t strictly require sleep, those with gravitronic brains operated more efficiently if they went into stand-by mode, a low-energy state that, among other things, allowed them to dream. Davidson had a bed installed for that very purpose, though he could just as easily sleep standing up.
“Messiah,” a voice said from the other room.
Davidson passed through the doorway and met his assistant, an execubot with a silver body of roughly humanoid proportions and shape.
“Yes?” Davidson asked.
“An encrypted transmission has arrived,” the assistant said. “The courier drone shows it came from the Imperial capital.”
“Send it to the terminal in my office.”
“Yes, Messiah.”
Davidson had always discouraged his staff from calling him that, but over time he had simply succumbed to its ubiquitousness. He didn’t feel comfortable with the moniker, but he no longer fought against it.
In his private office, with the door shut behind him, the Metal Messiah took a seat behind a glass desk. With a wave of Davidson’s hand, a screen appeared in midair above the glass surface and the image of a human woman appeared. In her mid-forties, she had long dark hair and wore a kebaya, a traditional Indonesian garment of sheer fabric embellished with brocades of pink flowers. Her name was Senator Wulandari.
“I hope this message reaches you safely,” she said. “Obviously, the prospect of it falling into the wrong hands would be a disaster.”
“The peacebots sent by dy cybernetics have been essential against the recent uprisings,” the senator went on. “I know your feelings about Dyson Yost, but his help during these troubles has raised public awareness about the importance of robots in the Imperium. Pro-cyberling opinion has never been higher.”
Davidson’s eyes, or at least the servos behind them, narrowed skeptically. He knew better than anyone not to trust Yost.
“I wanted you to be the first to know,” Senator Wulandari said, “that I intend to introduce a bill in the Senate that would finally give robots the right to self-determination.”
She glanced down with a slight shrug.
“Of course, there’s no chance the bill will pass or even be brought to a vote,” she said, “but this is a start. These might be small steps, but someday I know robots will have the same rights as anyone else.”
She smiled, and the image winked off.
A long way for a message to travel, Davidson thought. I wonder if she misses me too?
On the western shore of the Regalis River, just north of the Grand Parade Grounds, the Imperial Senate sat like a fat toad of marble and gold. Beneath a transparent dome, the senate chamber was shaped like a horseshoe, long tables in a semicircle facing a raised platform where senators took turns giving speeches about tax law and government subsidies. Behind the stage, a panoramic screen projected an eastern view toward the rest of Regalis. During debates, portions of the screen showed insets of whoever was currently at the podium, as well as the current vote counts.
Senator Wulandari, in her traditional Indonesian dress, took the long walk up the aisle toward the podium at the front of the Senate chamber. A member of one of the smaller parties, she was rarely on the panoramic screen, a place usually reserved for politicians of noble birth or legislators from a larger party. Through audacity and natural stubbornness, she had won a seat on the Civil Rights Committee, making friends among the Left and enemies among the Right. Her greatest strength was seeing beyond flesh and blood, which even her progressive colleagues thought was too out of touch with the Imperial public.