Synthezoids Endworld 30

by Robbins, David

  Blade refused to give up. He clawed at the grass, at the earth, and moved forward inch by laborious inch. He thought of Jenny, the wonderful woman who had willingly shared the many hardships and trials of his life’s journey, and his heart swelled with love for her. He thought of Gabe, his son, so young, and a chip off the old block in so many ways. Tears welled from the corners of his eyes.

  Blade didn’t want to die. Not like this.

  As a Warrior, Blade had always imagined he might one day fall in combat. Death by gun or knife or sword or bow was to be expected in his line of work. This was hideous. Laid low, with no chance to defend himself. Stricken by God-knew-what, and left helpless in the dirt. It was an empty, meaningless, perverse death, a death no warrior should suffer.

  Through a shifting haze of images, Blade saw his cabin. He reached toward it and tried to say Jenny’s name but his face grew so stiff, he might as well be made of stone.

  Then all sensation ceased.

  *    *    *

  Her name was Sibyl. She chose it at her Naming Ceremony when she was sixteen. At birth her parents named her Mary and she liked the name. But as she grew and her unusual abilities manifested, she did extensive research in the Family Library on women of previous eras who possessed the same ability she did, and chose a new name that she felt did them honor.

  Sibyl was an Empath, a rarity among the Family. Her genetic makeup was different than most. As a result, she possessed an enhanced capacity for subconscious or superconscious awareness. Often out of nowhere, she experienced impressions or mental associations she was unable to explain. She could feel what others were feeling. She could share their thoughts as if they were her own.

  Even more uncanny was her elevated consciousness of the continuum in which humankind existed. Now and then, she would sense things at a distance. Bad things. Such as when Family members were in danger, or when a dire menace threatened the Home. A deep uneasiness would come over her, a feeling so strong, it often startled her.

  Like now.

  Sibyl jerked awake and sat upright. She was in her bed in the singles dorm. Around her, other women slept peacefully. Sliding her legs over the side, she felt uneasiness knife through her like a stab to her brain. Closing her eyes, she tried to isolate the cause but couldn’t.

  Troubled, Sibyl stood. She smoothed her shift and padded on her bare feet to the entrance to B Block. The door had been left open to admit the air. What with the Home’s high walls and the Warriors always on guard, It was safe to do.

  Why, then, was she so uneasy? Sibyl asked herself as she stepped into the night. She surveyed the compound. All was quiet. All was still save for trees rustling to the breeze. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

  Sybyl gazed to the west at the rampart over the drawbridge but didn’t see anyone, which puzzled her. Everyone knew the Warrior Triads took turns on sentry duty. Everyone knew that while Warriors were constantly patrolling the ramparts, there was always one stationed above the drawbridge. Always.

  Her uneasiness growing, Sibyl moved toward the drawbridge. The grass was cool on the soles of her feet. Toward dawn it would also be wet with the morning dew. Absently swiping at a stray bang that fell across her eyes, she scanned the south rampart.

  Again she saw no one.

  Sibyl went faster. She ran to the base of the ramp, and hesitated. It would embarrass her no end to go running up there and find everything was fine. But no. She must trust her special sense. It seldom failed her.

  “Anyone around?” Sibyl said. When she didn’t get a reply she started up, the wood under her feet worn smooth by the passage of countless others over the decades.

  “This is Sibyl,” she announced. “Warriors? Hello?” She thought that maybe the sentry on duty had sat down and she simply couldn’t see him or her from below.

  Pausing, Sibyl half-turned and stared out over the Home. It couldn’t be more peaceful. “What am I sensing?” she said to herself, and resumed her climb. She was almost to the top when she saw a buckskin-clad figure sprawled in a strange posture.

  “Hickok?”

  Sinking to a knee, Sibyl pressed a hand to the gunfighter’s face. It felt like the wood under her feet. She pressed his neck, trying to find a pulse, and couldn’t. Nor could she see a wound. He didn’t appear to have been shot or stabbed. It was if he had simply keeled over.

  “How can this be?” Sibyl exclaimed. Rising, she raced down the ramp. Should she sound a general alarm? she wondered. Inform the Family’s Leader, Socrates? Contact other Warriors?

  She debated for all of five seconds and then flew to the east, making for Blade’s cabin. He was the head Warrior and belonged to the same Triad as Hickok. If he wasn’t there, his wife would be, and Jenny was a Healer.

  Her shift impeded her somewhat, clinging to her legs as it did. A chill breeze fanned her hair.

  Sybyl wasn’t much of a runner but she did the best she could. It seemed surreal, the serenity of the night contrasted to her turmoil. She sought to calm herself but her special sense wouldn’t stop goading her to make the utmost haste.

  Too late, Sibyl realized something was on the ground in front of her. She tried to stop but struck hard and pitched forward on top of a motionless man. In a flash she took in his size, his black vest, glimpsed a Bowie at his side.

  “Blade?”

  Sliding off, Sibyl probed. His skin felt the same to her touch as Hickok’s. Once again she felt for a pulse. Once again she failed to find one.

  “Dear Spirit, no.”

  All Sibyl could think of was to get to Jenny as quickly as possible. In less than a minute she was pounding on their door and shouting Jenny’s name, not caring if she woke their neighbors. She heard the rasp of a latch and the door opened to reveal Jenny, bundling a robe about her and blinking confusedly in the moonlight.

  “Sibyl? Is that you?”

  Sibyl gasped out a yes.

  “What’s wrong? Why are you here?”

  “Blade!” Sibyl got out. “Hickok!”

  Jenny grabbed the front of Sibyl’s shift. “Blade? What about him?”

  “I don’t know,” Sibyl said. She was going to explain but an anxious yell came from further in the cabin.

  “Mom? What’s going on? Who is that?”

  “Get out here, Gabe,” Jenny replied to her son. To Sibyl she said, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Coughing to clear her throat, Sibyl said, “I think our husband and Hickok are dead.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Fear ate at you and ate at you. No matter how hard you tried to suppress it, it never went away. It lurked and festered deep inside, and should that which you feared come to pass, it burst out like a roaring lion bursting from a cage and clawed you to emotional ribbons.

  For more years than Jenny cared to think about, her biggest fear was that some day, something terrible would happen to the man she loved. Blade was a Warrior. He was dedicated to protecting those he cared for. And as an adage from the olden times had it, those who lived by the sword were prone to die by the sword. Or be shot. Or ripped apart by a mutate. Every time Blade left the Home on a run to who knew where, her fear surfaced anew.

  Ironic, Jenny thought, that when her husband was finally laid low, it was at the Home. On guard duty. She had long imagined that if he were to go down, it would be in the violent heat of combat.

  Now, standing in the infirmary in C Block, her arms wrapped tight around her chest, Jenny anxiously watched as Clara, the chief Healer and her mentor, examined her husband. Jenny had already examined him and was at a loss.

  The Family’s top Scientist, Tesla, was there, too. Clara was pressing a stethoscope to Blade’s neck while Tesla was using a syringe to take a blood sample.

  “Peculiar,” he remarked to Clara. In his middle years, he was as thin as a broom and sported a wild tangle of shoulder-length hair. “We can’t feel a pulse yet his circulatory system still functions. His blood is flowing, if ever-so-slowly.”

  “Hold on,” Cl
ara said, and motioned for quiet. She was in her late fifties and wore her white hair in a bun. She listened with the stethoscope, then said, “I think there is a pulse.”

  “You think?” Jenny said, grasping at the hope.

  Clara held up a finger to enjoin silence and adjusted the stethoscope. She listened for what seemed an interminable interval, then smiled and nodded. “Yes! No doubt now. It’s weak but it’s there.”

  “How weak?” Tesla asked.

  “A beat every two minutes,” Clara said.

  “Impossible,” the chief Scientist said. “No heart can function at that rate.”

  “I know how to take a pulse,” Clara said. Removing the ear tips, she held out the instrument. “Listen for yourself.”

  Jenny, overcome with joy, tried to make sense of the implications. Earlier, when she had seen Blade lying in the grass, so very still and seemingly lifeless, her own heart had caught in throat.

  Tesla was adjusting the stethoscope. He listened, and after a while shook his head in puzzlement. “You’re absolutely right. I don’t understand how this can be.”

  “Here,” Clara said, holding out her hand. “I’ll recheck Hickok and Yama. They must be in the same state.”

  Jenny glanced at the other two Warriors. They had found Hickok on the west wall. Yama had succumbed while in bed. His wife, Melissa, had discovered he was comatose when Geronimo pounded on their cabin door to inform them about Blade and Hickok, and woke her up.

  “Altered is right,” Tesla was saying. “This is beyond anything I’ve ever heard of.”

  Jenny placed her hand on Blade’s brow. His skin felt unnatural, as if he were made of stone instead of flesh and bone. “What could cause something like this?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” Tesla said. “Yet.” He held up the syringe. “The lab results will tell us more.”

  “Perhaps I may be of assistance in that regard, sir,” chirped a voice tinged with mechanical nuance.

  Jenny frowned, and turned.

  The Family’s newest addition—-known as an Artificial Living Veraform Intelligence System—-hovered not an arm’s-length’s away. She hadn’t heard it approach. Created by Thanatos, the demented Dark Lord and ruler of the Valley of Shadow, the synthetic being—-which preferred to be called A.l.v.i.s—-was shaped like a bullet or torpedo. As long as a yardstick and as round as a pie pan, it possessed unnerving red ‘eyes’ and a row of tiny lights lower down that never stopped blinking.

  “How can you be of help, A.l.v.i.s?” Tesla said.

  The synthezoid floated to the table. “Don’t you remember, sir? My internal processors are capable of performing over a quarter of a million functions. I can analyze the blood for you much more quickly and comprehensively than you can using old-fashioned methods.”

  Tesla nodded. “I tend to forget how efficient you are. But then, you haven’t been with us long enough for me to learn the full extent of your capabilities.”

  “My Master, Thanatos, once remarked that I was his jack-of-all-trades,” A.l.v.i.s said. “To put it succinctly, I’m the most sophisticated artificial entity to ever exist.”

  “Humble, too,” Jenny said before she could catch herself.

  “I state a fact, Jennifer,” A.l.v.i.s said. “Hyperbole was not incorporated into my programming.”

  “What do I do?” Tesla said.

  A small opening appeared in A.l.v.i.s’s shiny body and out slid a tray. “Deposit a few drops, if you would.”

  “That’s all it takes?” Tesla said as he slowly pressed the plunger.

  Jenny wasn’t squeamish by nature. If she were, she would never have become a Healer. But the sight of her husband’s blood dripping onto that tray made her gut churn.

  “It is quite sufficient, sir,” A.l.v.i.s said. The tray slid back in. “Now if you will excuse me, I must focus my AI.” His red eyes dulled slightly.

  “AI?” Jenny said.

  “Artificial Intelligence,” Tesla said. “A prewar term. We are fortunate to have such an exemplary model at our disposal.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Your mistrust is unwarranted, Jenny,” Tesla said. “A.l.v.i.s is incapable of harming human beings.”

  “So it claims.”

  “A.l.v.i.s is a marvel, really,” Tesla said. “Thanatos might have been mad but he was undeniably a genius.”

  “I’m glad he’s dead,” Jenny said bluntly. “The world is better off.”

  A faint whirring sound emanated from A.l.v.i.s, followed by several distinct clicks. Its eyes brightened and it rose a little higher into the air. “My analysis is complete.”

  “So soon?” Tesla marveled.

  “I have a diagnosis, if you care to hear it.”

  “Of course we do,” Jenny said anxiously. “What’s wrong with my husband and the others?”

  “All three Warriors suffer from a condition my Master described as Matter Displacement Syndrome. It…..”

  “Wait,” Tesla interrupted. “You’re saying it’s a result of their using the time machine?”

  “Technically, sir,” A.l.v.i.s said, “the device you took from God’s Needle is no such thing. As I have made plain from the beginning of our acquaintance, my Master called it MABEL. Which stands for Matter Alignment by Energy Light-Phase....”

  Tesla cut him off a second time. “Hold on. God’s Needle?”

  “My Master’s name for his edifice.”

  “But everyone else had always called it the Tower. It’s also known as the Black Tower.”

  “My Master once told me that he regards the edifice as a needle poking at the eye of God, if you will,” A.l.v.i.s chirped. “He saw all religion as superstition. To him, science was the be all and end all. So when he built an edifice as high as the reputed Tower of Bable, it amused him to call it God’s Needle.”

  “We had no idea,” Tesla said.

  “You are probably also unaware that my Master’s real name is not Thanatos,” the synthezoid chirped.

  “How’s that again?” Tesla said.

  “You have a practice here at the Home. The Naming Ceremony., I believe you call it. When Family members turn sixteen, they are encouraged to choose the name they will be known by from that time forward.”

  “Yes. So?” Jenny said impatiently. She wanted to turn the talk back to Blade and his condition.

  “My Master’s birth name is Varnum. Whether that is his first or his last, he never revealed. He did inform me that when he was in his twenties he decided to adopt a new one. As both a name and a title. Something that suited his nature.” A.l.v.i.s paused. “He was fond of Greek mythology, and chose the name of their personification of death.”

  “Thanatos,” Tesla said. “My word. What that says about him.”

  “Enough about his stupid name,” Jenny said angrily. “What was that business about the time machine and some kind of syndrome?”

  “As I have been trying to make plain,” A.l.v.i.s said, his tone reminding Jenny of a teacher seeking to enlighten backward students, “time, as you conceive of it, has no bearing on MABEL’s operation. Basically, the machine converts matter into light and then projects the light particles into the time-space continuum at a predetermined point.”

  “I knew Thanatos was brilliant,” Tesla said in awe. “But to defy the basic tenets of physics!” He shook his head in amazement.

  “Tenets are never ironclad, as my Master used to say,” A.l.v.i.s chirped.

  “Explain, if you would,” Tesla said.

  Jenny lost her patience. “Enough! My husband is lying there at death’s door! The same with our friends!” She jabbed a finger at A.l.v.i.s. “You say it’s a result of their using that damnable device? In what way? More importantly, how do we restore them to normal?”

  A.l.v.i.s fixed those eerie red eyes on her. “The human body was never intended to undergo the transformations they experienced. Envision it as being akin to taking a lump of clay and converting it into a flashlight beam.”

  “And?�
� Jenny goaded.

  “My Master experimented endlessly before he perfected the operational parameters to his satisfaction. He discovered that the stress on a living organism is severe. In his early experiments many of his test subjects perished. Some had their constituent elements rearranged. Others underwent a delayed reaction. Their bodies shut down.” A.l.v.i.s turned toward the three tables. “My assessment is that Blade, Hickok and Yama are experiencing the latter syndrome. Their tissues and sinews are petrifying. Eventually, their internal organs will cease to function.”

  “Dear Spirit!” Jenny exclaimed in horror.

  “Why didn’t you warn us this might happen before the Warriors used the device?” Tesla said angrily.

  “If you will recall, sir,” A.l.v.i.s replied, “I mentioned more than once that using MABEL was not entirely safe. You expressed no interest in the specifics. Blade insisted the Warriors needed to confront the Lords of Kismet, and you requested I do all in my power to aid them in achieving their goal.”

  There was only one thing Jenny wanted to know. “Is there a cure? Is there some way of making them whole again?”

  “My Master created a serum that can reverse the effects of the transmutation effect. He always carried a vial with him whenever he used the device himself. Bear in mind that in his later experiments, MABEL performed quite well. Perhaps when you brought the unit here you failed to reassemble it exactly as it should be constructed. Even the most minute divergence could be the cause of the conditions they are in.”

  Jenny didn’t care about any of that. She only cared about one thing. “What do we have to do to save my husband? Recreate the serum? Can you do that yourself?”

  “I am afraid I can’t,” A.l.v.i.s said. “My Master never shared the formula. He was prone to keep secrets.”

  Jenny clenched her fists in frustration and dismay. “Damn it!” she snapped.

  “Take heart,” A.l.v.i.s said. “All is not lost. The formula for the serum should be in among the journals my Master kept on all aspects of his experiments.”