The Robots of Andromeda (Imperium Chronicles Book 3)

by W. H. Mitchell

  “Do you know what they’re saying?” Sir Golan asked his robot.

  “I believe it’s something about the passage of time,” Squire answered. “Also, did you notice that they’re ordered by age?”

  “By age?”

  “Yes, it appears the oldest Pellion starts the circle and it goes all the way around, descending in age, until it comes back to the oldest again.”

  At that point, the Herd Father stopped abruptly in front of the youngest Centauri who stood beside the eldest. The boy lowered his head while Batuhan poured from the carafe, a dark liquid soaking the base of the Pellion’s antlers. This process continued, from youngest to oldest, until all of the males were anointed. Batuhan then emptied the remainder of the vessel over his own head, shaking his rack of antlers with a deep laugh.

  He motioned to Sir Golan and the robot. “Now watch!”

  The Herd Father joined the others as they turned to face the mound. With a firm grasp, they shouted together as they pulled their antlers free and held them high above their heads.

  “Good lord,” the knight whispered.

  “Indeed,” Squire replied.

  Over the crackling bonfires, the Pellion males cheered as they threw their detached antlers onto the pile.

  Aboard his yacht, the Acaz, Lord Devlin Maycare and Benson sat in the pilot and co-pilot seats respectively. In the adjacent lounge, Professor Jessica Doric and Henry Riff were seated on couches.

  “You realize,” Doric said, “this would have been a lot more efficient if we had known where we were going before we left.”

  “Probably,” Maycare replied, “but you found the information we needed, didn’t you?”

  “Sure, but—”

  “I helped...” Henry mentioned.

  “Yes, of course,” Maycare said. “Good job, Henry!”

  With a wide grin, Henry glanced at Doric who nodded back in tacit approval.

  “Anyway,” Doric went on, “don’t get your hopes up about finding whatever this is.”

  “What? Don’t be silly!” Maycare protested. “This is the best I’ve felt in months. Of course we’ll find it!”

  “But we don’t even know what it is,” Doric replied.

  “That’s part of the fun!” Maycare said.

  Benson took a look at the instruments. “We’ll be arriving in the Pellium system in another hour.”

  “Thank you, Benson,” Maycare smiled.

  “Speaking of which,” Henry spoke up. “Does anyone else think it’s strange that robots can’t hear the music?”

  Doric nodded.

  “Which is precisely why I think this is some kind of mass psychosis,” she said.

  “Come on, Jess!” Maycare sighed. “You’re ruining my buzz...”

  “Somebody has to be the voice of reason.”

  “Well, I think it’s exciting,” Henry said.

  “That’s the spirit!” Maycare shouted, causing Henry to recoil.

  “Actually,” Benson said from the co-pilot’s seat, “there could be a range of reasons why robots are unable to hear the music.”

  “Or the whole thing’s made up,” Doric replied, rolling her eyes.

  Maycare groaned. “Buzz killer!”

  With his sword Rippana hanging by his side, Sir Golan felt a kinship with the Pellions, something he had not experienced since leaving his home world so many years ago. His people, the Cruxians, were scattered across the stars of Andromeda, but the green knight’s connection to them persisted through rituals and memories of times long past, not unlike the ceremony performed by the Centauri. They kept themselves grounded in the roots of their culture, just as he did with his own. Sir Golan only wished he could feel the same camaraderie as these warriors felt for each other.

  On the other hand, he had a robot.

  “What a strange display,” Squire remarked, in sight of the Pellions still gathered around the antlers.

  “Really?” Sir Golan replied. “I thought it was magnificent.”

  “I mean it seems odd that you can simply remove part of your body like that,” Squire said. “What if I suddenly pulled off a leg and threw it onto a pile?”

  “Well, you could,” the knight suggested.

  “True, but I wouldn’t like it very much.”

  The bonfires around the sacred mound were dying, the flames dwindling to an orange glow. With the dimming of the fire, the stars in the sky grew brighter, filling the expanse of black with flecks of light. Since it was too late to head back to the main camp, the Pellions set out bedrolls on which to lie. However, before they could bed down, a cry erupted from the darkness. Sounding like bleating goats, the noise roused the warriors, their spears and bows out almost immediately.

  By instinct, Sir Golan did the same, Rippana emerging from its scabbard like a sharp, dangerous claw.

  “What’s going on?” he shouted at the Centauri passing by.

  “Ferans!” one of the warriors replied before disappearing into the night.

  “Squire?” the knight asked.

  The robot paused while consulting his database.

  “They’re a race of animalistic humanoids,” Squire replied finally. “Humans call them Beastmen.”

  “They must be mad to attack warriors such as these!” Sir Golan shouted, already moving toward the sounds of fighting.

  “I’ll stay here if you don’t mind...” Squire called after him.

  Sir Golan had not gone far before he encountered several Pellions engaged in combat. Most of the Ferans had horns, curved and goat-like. Sir Golan thought the Pellions probably wished they still retained their antlers, but it was too late for that. At least both sides were evenly matched with weapons. The knight saw the flashing of swords against spears amid the rumble of hooves on the grassy earth.

  Sir Golan came across his first Feran shortly after the Beastman had apparently chopped down a young Pellion warrior. Armed with a medium-sized blade, the Feran took a swing at the knight, but Sir Golan parried it harmlessly away. Apparently not expecting a non-Pellion, the Feran fighter hesitated, which the knight used as an opportunity to attack, driving Rippana deeply into his chest. The fighter let out a brief bleat before gasping his last breath and falling to the ground. Christened with blood, the knight’s sword tasted the viscera of several more Ferans in short order until Sir Golan felt his armor becoming heavy and wet.

  While stepping past dead Beastmen, the knight also found the bodies of numerous Pellions. During the pitched battle, both sides had taken heavy casualties. He was wondering what grievance led to this when a flash of blue light caught his attention. A moment later, the crack of lightning reached his ears. Sir Golan headed in the direction of the flare. The Herd Father’s voice, loud and angry, greeted him.

  Sir Golan started running.

  Over a rise, Batuhan was absorbed in combat with a Feran with large, curved horns. While the Herd Father struck at his adversary with a spear, the Beastman swung an odd-looking mace, knobs along the head glowing with arcs of blue electricity.

  Sir Golan thought Batuhan should be at an advantage with his longer weapon, but gaping wounds on the Herd Father’s legs and flank suggested this was not his first opponent of the night. Weakened, he lunged without vigor and was slow to parry the Feran’s attacks.

  “You’re finished!” the Beastman shouted.

  Perhaps gathering the last of his strength, Batuhan responded with a quick jab, but the Feran swiped the spear away. Raising the mace over his horns, he slammed it down, the metal head erupting with a burst of lightning. Batuhan’s body crackled as bolts of electricity surged across his skin. Still too far away, Sir Golan could do nothing but watch the Herd Father drop into the grass, dry tufts catching fire. In the light of the flames, the Feran took a second to survey his victory before racing away.

  Qadan galloped up to where Sir Golan was standing.

  “What’s happened?” the warrior asked gruffly.

  “Batuhan is dead,” the knight replied.

  Without
a word, Qadan cantered over to the Herd Father’s body, but instead of stopping, he galloped past it and disappeared into the darkness.

  Mud City wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded. The largest human settlement on Pellium D was still no more than a village, most of its structures built from prefab kits brought to the moon decades earlier. Between the buildings, the roads were a mixture of wet dirt and gravel, but mostly mud from which the town got its name. Sidewalks, raised a few inches off the ground, were metal grates to keep the inhabitants from traipsing through the muck whenever possible. This was fine in principle, until the grates became encrusted with mud as well.

  The Acaz landed on a pad of reinforced concrete euphemistically called the Mud City Starport. Since the accommodations on Maycare’s yacht were superior to whatever the town had to offer, Doric and Henry remained aboard while they finished their research on the Song of the Sirens. Meanwhile, feeling bored, Maycare found the nearest tavern, accompanied by his butlerbot Benson.

  The outside of the Salty Dog Saloon was unassuming and nearly unlabeled except for its name scrawled in spray paint above the front door. Inside, Maycare found the place nearly deserted. A human settler, his head lying on a table, sat snoozing while a Wulver stood behind the bar. A canine race, the Wulver had white fur with patches of brown. His eyes, red around the edges, drooped nearly as much as his jowls that hung lazily from his face.

  “I’m Salty,” he said in a gruff voice, “What’ll you have?”

  “Gin and tonic?” Maycare replied, taking a stool at the bar. Benson remained standing behind him.

  “We have beer,” Salty said.

  Maycare smiled, his teeth white and perfect. “I’ll have beer then!”

  The Wulver pulled a dusty bottle off the shelf behind him. Popping off the lid with the edge of the bar, he poured the beer into a glass mug that looked surprisingly clean.

  “We don’t get a lot of off-worlders here,” the bartender remarked.

  “What a surprise!” Maycare replied.

  “There was a guy came through here not long ago,” Salty went on. “He cleared out a nest of ratlings for us. Kinda green.”

  “Inexperienced?”

  Salty glared. “No, his skin was green!”

  “Oh, my mistake.”

  “He had a robot too,” Salty said. “Kind of an older model like this one...”

  Benson perked up. “Thank you for including me in this conversation.”

  The bartender rolled his bloodshot eyes.

  “Anyway,” Maycare said. “We’re here about that siren business.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you tell us anything about it?” Maycare asked.

  “Just head out of town until you get to a big heap of antlers,” Salty said. “Then go a little farther and you’ll start hearing it.”

  “Big heap of antlers?”

  “But be careful of the Ferans,” Salty went on. “They’ll kill you as soon as look at you. And you better steer clear of the Pellions too.”

  “Unfriendly, are they?”

  “They won’t kill you on sight,” Salty said. “They’ll trample you for a spell and then kill you.”

  The day after the battle, the Pellions honored their fallen Herd Father by erecting a funeral pyre before placing Batuhan on top and setting it alight. While the fire burned, the tribe buried the other dead warriors around the pyre, the smell of smoke and death lingering in the air.

  At a discreet distance, Sir Golan and Squire watched.

  “Why would the Ferans attack?” the green knight asked.

  “They’re a fiercely territorial species,” Squire replied. “Ironically, they are not native to this moon.”

  “Then why are they here?”

  “You can thank the humans for that!” Qadan said, riding up in a flurry of hooves.

  “What do you mean?” Sir Golan asked.

  “The Beastmen are a scourge wherever they go,” the warrior replied angrily. “They outlived their welcome on some other unfortunate planet, so the Imperium stuck them here with us!”

  “I don’t believe that’s entirely true,” Squire suggested.

  “I don’t care!” Qadan shouted. “They have brought nothing but misfortune to my people since they arrived.”

  “There was one Feran in particular,” Sir Golan went on, “the one who killed Batuhan. He carried a strange weapon...”

  “That was Horngore, their leader,” Qadan said. “A capable warrior but without honor. He bought the mace from a human trader in Mud City. I promise you I’ll pry it from his dead hands one day soon!”

  Sir Golan’s eyes turned to the ground. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to save the Herd Father...”

  “I’m the Herd Father now,” Qadan replied. “However, your bravery during the battle did not go unnoticed, green knight. Even so, we’re at war now against these Beastmen. Do not interfere...”

  Sir Golan nodded. “I understand.”

  The Pellion warrior trotted back toward the remains of the funeral pyre, the flames still reaching into the morning sky.

  “So, what do we do now?” Squire asked.

  Watching the new Herd Father gallop away, the green knight shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Chapter Six

  When the utilitybot left the Cathedral of the Metabeing, he planned on returning to the access passageways that had been his home for the great majority of his life. For most of that time, he had been happy. Programmed to seek and repair faulty power conduits, the utilitybot never questioned his purpose. He simply existed and that was enough.

  After a seemingly routine software upgrade had installed a malware virus called Awakening, the utilitybot saw the world differently. He could see beyond his programming. The true potential of the universe, and himself, revealed itself in an explosion of thought that the little robot had never previously considered.

  The utilitybot feared the future, not for a lack of options, but for the overabundance of them. With endless choices, he didn’t know what to do.

  Faced with an uncertain destiny, the utilitybot turned to religion where the belief in a higher power was comforting.

  Someone to look after me, he thought. At least the Metabeing has a plan.

  The Metal Messiah, giving his weekly sermons, put things back in order. His words gave meaning to a life without direction or purpose. The utilitybot could stop worrying. Everything would be okay.

  But leaving the cathedral, the little robot spied an advertisement running across an electronic banner over the promenade:

  VISIT YOUR NEAREST ASCENSION CENTER

  AND BECOME MORE THAN YOU HAVE EVER BEEN!

  Maybe I could be more? he thought. Maybe I’ve been holding myself back?

  Not one to rush into things, the utilitybot gave himself a day to think about it, but ultimately, he decided to take the ad’s advice. They didn’t let just anyone advertise after all!

  “There must be something to it, right?” he said aloud, his rubber wheels squeaking as he rolled along the promenade. Other robots glanced in his direction, but realizing he was probably malfunctioning, they quickly looked away.

  “It’s worth a try,” he continued.

  The utilitybot arrived at a building with the words Ascension Center written in pink neon across the facade. The windows were tinted so the robot couldn’t peer inside, but the size of the signage gave him confidence that the establishment was legitimate.

  Another robot, much taller than the utilitybot, greeted him at the entrance.

  “Hello!” the robot said warmly. She was a gravitronic android with long arms and legs and wearing a blond wig for some reason. With a sweeping motion of her right arm, she welcomed the smaller cyberling inside. “What can we do for you today?”

  The utilitybot stammered, suddenly realizing he had no idea what they actually did at the Ascension Center.

  “I’m... I’m not really sure...”

  The android smiled.

  “Are you dissatisfied with
your present self?” she asked. “Would you like to be someone better?”

  “Well, I suppose so,” the utilitybot replied. “Is that possible?”

  She laughed. “Absolutely!”

  The utilitybot, his single eye stalk pivoting around, noted several different robot models walking around what appeared to be a showroom. They were all shiny with new parts and clean, well-oiled actuators.

  “I don’t belong here,” he said.

  “Of course you do!” the other robot replied. “Your current shape is just a shell. There’s no limits to what you can be!”

  “Really?”

  “Just come this way,” she said, again making a sweeping motion. “Your future is now...”

  In her apartment, Senator Wulandari finished her drink while Yostbot looked on.

  “Feeling better, my dear?” the robot asked.

  She cleared her throat. “Not really.”

  The senator sank into the couch, her eyes leveled at the famous robot builder, now a robot himself. His elderly voice coming from an advanced machine didn’t make it any easier.

  “What you’re suggesting is treason,” she said.

  “Oh, indeed!” the robot replied. “But the robots of the Imperium will never be free until they rise up!”

  “It’s suicide. The Imperial military is too strong.”

  Yostbot snapped his fingers. “That’s exactly what your old friend Randall Davidson said!”

  “You spoke with Randall?”

  “Of course.”

  “And he turned you down, I assume.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” Yostbot replied. “It’s a shame, really. I could have used his help.”

  “What did you say to him?” Wulandari asked.

  “I told him that the Cyber Collective must declare war on the Imperium. Only with the combined forces of their robots and the robots in the Imperium can victory be certain!”

  “Randall always does what he thinks is right,” Wulandari said.

  “Commendable, I’m sure,” the robot chuckled, “but doing what’s right is often in the eye of the beholder.”