“I am perfectly aware we are currently on a planet where advanced technological intellects are not seen as people, Lawrence. Acutely, even. But if someone has a consciousness, and the ability to express emotions, you should be a bit more compassionate toward them. Or, at least capable of faking such compassion. I’ve seen you around the museum Board, I know you can at least fake emotional intelligence.” The one she called Lawrence sputtered, and Aleksei smiled, ever so slightly, for a moment.
“Fine. Are you sure it’s appropriate to leave him up there alone, with an Imperial dataweb connection?”
“I doubt he can destroy the Empire with my datapad. And he was accessing language utilities when I let him be, which was well over an hour ago. We have no idea how he’s feeling, or why he’s here, and a little time to compose himself will probably make what comes next easier on all of us.”
Aleksei considered going back up the stairs. Perhaps out a door. Outside. Anywhere but talking to Lawrence, and the woman who had greeted him when he woke up. Sighing, he grasped the handle of the vault door, and pulled it open. Her look of alarm when she saw him in the doorway caused him to stop moving forward. Lawrence swore, running from across the room. “This room isn’t advanced enough for what’s in storage here, you need to keep that bloody outside light outside!” He shoved Aleksei out of the way, pulling the door shut. The woman straightened her bent head from her labors, elbow deep in faded fabrics contained inside yet another crate.
“You look to be feeling better. Is there anything you need?”
Aleski looked at her, still mired in deep confusion. “Who… are you? Where are we?”
She pursed her lips briefly. “My name is Catherine Dooley, and you are standing with my assistant, Lawrence Hanrahan. We’re Acquisitions Specialists from the Cordatan Imperial Living History Museum.”
“Historians?”
Catherine nodded in confirmation. “Both of us, yes. We came to this place to evaluate and catalogue a number of antiquities left to our museum. Do you know how you…,” she paused, unable to find a delicate way to finish her inquiry.
Aleksei looked at her, keeping his expression inscrutable. “How I came to be in a crate, for however long I’ve been here? No. No, that I cannot tell you, nor do I know. Madam Dooley, how long have I been present in this place?”
The tightening in her shoulders caused an answering feeling of concern within him. “I can’t say for certain. But if you could tell us who you remember as being in the government, it would greater increase my ability to try and estimate that.”
Aleksei frowned at her. She spoke like Nicolai, who had been adept at dancing around subjects from dusk till new dawn. “The Empress Estrella, and her consort Etienne.”
Lawrence did not sit down on a crate. He collapsed upon it with a weak, horrified laugh. Aleksei turned to speak to him, but Catherine’s voice stopped him. Cold, and calm. Now she sounded like a Seneschal.
“That’s very helpful. But we need a few more details. Do you remember your name? Why you were on Cordata? I know you’re not from here, originally, Cordata’s never allowed the legal construction of humanoid forms for advanced technological intellects inside their borders.” Aleksei turned his head to look at her, the dusting of pink flush across her paled face. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
“I am Aleksei. I am a… companion.” He grimaced. “That word does not sound correct.”
While he observed her, Catherine almost smiled. “I wouldn’t have thought about it twice like that until you said it. So, you were here with someone? As their day-companion? A nurse?”
He shook his head at the unfamiliar wording. “No. I was his… friend.” Aleksei paused, then nodded to himself. “That is… a suitable word. I was his friend. Dmitry. He was here as a blind fosterage.” Aleksei met Catherine’s dispassionate gaze. “How can I know if he is all right? When I last saw him, there was—an altercation.” He watched her hands, braced on the outer lip of the fabric crate, spasm in their grip.
“Aleksei, you should sit down. Please.”
Aleski looked between the two humans, and Lawrence gave him a ghastly smile, scooting over to make room for Aleksei on the top of a crate. Catherine leaned further into her hands, as if it was all that held her up.
“I don’t know offhand what happened to your friend Dmitry, or where he… is. We’d need to do a rather fabulously detailed records search.” She licked her lips, though the gesture was as likely the Vault air as anxiety. “The Empress Estrella’s reign is known as the Empyrean period. Aleksei, I am so, so terribly sorry, but her reign ended over three hundred years ago.”
Aleksei could not weep, because the technology to give androids tears wasn’t invented when he was created. But his throat could approximate the sounds, and his form could seize with the jerking moments of the broken hearted. In an unprecedented moment of empathy, Lawrence gathered the android under his arm, patting his back somewhat awkwardly.
“There, there. That’s it. Just get it all out now, there you go.”
Catherine gathered herself up from the ground, and made her way to them slowly, perching on the corner of the crate, Aleksei between her and Lawrence. “Aleksei, do you have any… last memories? Do you know how you might have got here?”
“I don’t even know where here is!”
She winced, looking down at her shoes for a moment. “The place we’re at is called Felicity Hall. It was the country home of a noble, Lord Martin Hood.” Catherine raised her head as she felt Aleksei’s head whip up.
“We were here. We were here, we were here last night!”
The android lurched to his feet, taking both humans by surprise.
“You were?” Lawrence sounded dazed. “I mean, you were in the crate for awhile—“
“No.” Aleksei cut across the air with his hand, a curt retort of movement. “Dmitry and I, we were here last night. He wanted to see Astra, they were in—”
“Her Imperial Highness Astra?” Catherine sounded faint.
“Yes. Astra, Estrella and Etienne’s youngest child. She and Dmitry were in love. We were going to tell someone close to the Imperial family about his parentage, his family on his home planet, to prove he was of august blood, such blood as to marry her.” Aleksei looked down into their stricken faces. “What? You seem as if I spout the utmost moon-touched rantings.”
Catherine spoke slowly. “Aleksei, Her Imperial Highness Astra was assassinated in the capital. In the Imperial quarters, by a Novan officer. It was an act of war.” Aleksei sank to his knees, shaking his head vehemently. “No, no, it couldn’t have been. You’re wrong. It could not have been one of my countrymen. Only Nicolai and I were here, and we helped defend them, here, when the assassins came for Astra.”
He lurched forward and seized Catherine’s hands in his, while Lawrence sat in shock. “Madam. We came here last—that night. To speak to someone of authority, close to the throne, to begin brokering for Astra’s hand in marriage. Assassins came, perhaps even knowing of Dmitry’s origins. We knew not. Astra, her most competent guard, and Dmitry, they all fled. Nicolai and I stayed on the garden path to defend their retreat. We would not have killed the woman our liege loved, and the men we fought were not Novan. They were assuredly, most definitely Cordatan. If Astra perished as you say,” Catherine finally clasped his hands in return as his hands trembled, the words pouring out of him, “then it was not at our hands. I remember the sight of Dmitry and Astra fleeing, but not them coming to such violence. The swordsmen we fought are—”
He swallowed. “I believe they are the last thing I remember, though my recollections of my… final waking moments are quite dim.”
Lawrence shook his head. “History is history, Aleksei. You’re…,” he waved a hand at the android. “By capital standards you’re an ancient talking doll.” Lawrence jumped as Aleksei changed his grasp and attention to him, his hands closing firmly on the elbows of the human.
“But you are a historian. Do you not thirst for accuracy?
For truth? I may be a talking doll, but I can tell you the pitch and timbre of Her Highness’s voice. I can tell you what plants were in that garden that night. And I can tell you that I am an Imperial Companion, but I would not lie.” Aleksei’s voice shook, and that tremble went as far as his fingertips on Lawrence’s arms. “I laid down my life to protect my liege, my friend, and you tell me this world remembers us not at all?”
Catherine laid a hand on Aleksei’s shoulder. “Aleksei, history is complicated. It has been hundreds of years since you were last alive on this planet, and what you are saying contradicts history as we know it.” Her smile was tentative, her pleading look enough to make him stop. “Let him breathe a moment, yes? As you should, as well.”
Lawrence breathed. Aleksei looked into her face, a Cordatan—but not Cordatan—historian. A woman. She called him a person.
“But I do not need to breathe.”
“Fortune bless you, Aleksei, but just consider it a figure of speech then.” She took her own breath, and seemed surprised by its steadiness. “You are saying something that goes against all of what we know of history. Forgive, please, that we need a moment to process this and construct an appropriate response.”
Aleksei sunk back on his haunches. The two humans breathed, almost in time.
“If we take him back and he says this to the Registrar—“
“He’s not going to say anything to the Registrar.”
“I’m not? And who is this, ‘Registrar’?”
Catherine shook her head, both men watching her. “At this point we now possess information, that true or not, could count as treason. The Throne of Stars does not take challenge of its truths lightly. We need proof, and answers, and time, and we shall have none of that if we reveal your continued existence, Aleksei.” Both men began to speak, and she raised a weary hand. “Let me finish. I would prefer most of my academic and professional career not be built, however unknowingly, on a house of lies. Lawrence, if you wish to swear off any of what could come of this, we’ll figure out a way, maybe—”
“Are you kidding me? If this is true and we don’t get killed proving it, Registrar’s going to have to call me a ‘competent academic.’ I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”
She raised her eyebrows, but let his statements stand. Aleksei observed them in that moment, their silences filled with emotions between their words. They were deliberately antagonistic, competitive, and inordinately fond of truth. They would help him, or die in the attempt.
Turning her head, she looked squarely into Aleksei’s too-violet eyes. “I could turn you off, and you’d sleep forever. Or I can leave you on, and you’ll have to see whatever ugly, horrid places this may go before we’re done. But they won’t consider you a person here, and where I was born doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the Empire. We could send you away, to someplace safer. You could live elsewhere, and not risk being turned into scrap by a kingdom that will not recognize your independent will.”
Aleksei shook his head. “I am the Imperial Companion of Dmitry. I will not abandon him until I know what has become of him.”
Catherine sighed, looking between the two men. “Well. Then I suppose we have a lot of work to do.” She eyed Aleksei, her tone off hand. “Lawrence, do you think he’d fit in the trunk of the car?”
Aleksei set his shoulders back as Lawrence looked him up and down. “It’ll be uncomfortable, but I don’t think we’ll have to pop his head off.” Aleksei offered a tolerant Novan smile at Lawrence’s laughing summation of whatever cramped space he would soon be headed for.
They could disassemble him and put him in a bag for all he cared. They were going to the capital and he would find whatever had befallen Dmitry.
IN SO MANY WORDS
Christopher Kellen
“Mistress Anna, it is now 0620 local time. Would you like your daily briefing?”
She looked over at him and smiled through her hair. Though she was only halfway through her morning routine, she had never looked so lovely. “Each morning sees some task begun,” she said, in the particular vocal cadence which indicated a quotation. “Yes please, Cyan. Begin the briefing.”
“Of course, mistress,” Cyan answered. “It is currently 0621 local, 2313 Terran Standard Time, the 21st of April, Tuesday. You have three events for today: breakfast with your mother at 0800 local, a poetry reading at the Rachaume Center at 1230, and your birthday celebration tonight at 1700—”
“Oh, it’s finally my birthday, isn’t it?” she asked, clapping her hands in excitement. “I’ve been looking forward to it all week!”
Cyan waited patiently.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Cyan,” she said, waving her hand and turning back to work on her hair. “Please, continue.”
“Thank you, Mistress. You have three pending event requests, but none are marked urgent. Would you like to review them now?”
“No, no, later,” she said through a mouthful of hairpins.
“Very well.” Cyan gave the requests a cursory scan, just in case, and sighed silently as he saw the return address from one of them. “Mistress?”
“Mmph?”
“As per your standing instructions, one request has been flagged. It comes from Master Julian Childebert.”
She turned toward him, and her eyes lit up like the dawn. “Really? He’s still coming to my birthday party, right?”
If he’d had his preference, Cyan would have deleted the event and shredded the data trail, perhaps even composed a scathing retort of his own to the presumptuous fop. Instead, he made a quick check of the guest list for the night’s celebration, double-checked the from address on the message in the dim hope that he’d suffered a parsing glitch, and then nodded. “He has responded in the affirmative to your birthday party invitation. This is a separate invitation.”
“Oh, tell him yes, tell him yes!” She laughed, then stopped. “Wait. Does it conflict with any of my other events?”
Wishing nothing more than to confirm that it did, Cyan reviewed the timestamp on Childebert’s request and compared it to Mistress Anna’s event calendar. “No, Mistress. There are no conflicts.”
“Then please send an acknowledgment right away,” she said.
Cyan sent the message according to his mistress’ wishes. He wished for himself that he might have delayed it or even changed the time of the event, but his programming would not allow it. Only his owner’s demands, desires, and requests were important. This was the honor of being a personal assistant.
However, there was a flaw in his programming. His self-diagnostics were unable to locate the root cause, but it was there, nevertheless, flashing a consistent warning into his system log. UNKNOWN ERROR: CONSULT MANUFACTURER.
“The acknowledgment has been sent, Mistress Anna,” he said.
“Thank you, Cyan.”
If he’d had a mouth, the android would have smiled.
“You’re welcome, Mistress.”
“Dear, must you have that thing follow you everywhere you go?”
Anna wrinkled her nose. “Just because you prefer to keep that ancient thing on your head, Mother, doesn’t mean that the rest of us can’t keep up with technology.”
Cyan sat impassively behind his mistress as she dined with her mother. Anna had confided in him many times about how much her mother drove her crazy, but she continued to meet with her mother weekly regardless. It hardly seemed to follow a proper flow of logic, but it was not his place to question.
“Your father has one too, you know,” Anna’s mother sniffed, staring at her daughter from behind the energized lenses of her augmented-reality device. “I think he likes it more than he likes me, sometimes.”
An alert triggered in Cyan’s processor. He leaned forward and murmured, hoping to be as unobtrusive as possible, “Mistress, you have a new message. Would you like me to review the text now?”
“Who’s it from?” she whispered back.
“Anna!” her mother snapped, her vocal pitch indicating annoyance. “
Must you check your messages at the breakfast table?”
Anna started, looking guilty, but then put her hands on her hips and glared back at her mother. “Oh, as if you’re not reading the latest Mars Fashions while we’re sitting here?”
Now it was Anna’s mother’s turn to look guilty. The hue of her lenses changed as she hurriedly flicked her view to the side with a glance of her eyes. Cyan watched, awaiting a command.
“No, Cyan.” Anna was firm, although he knew the edge in her tone was not directed at him. He’d become well-practiced at interpreting the subtle distinctions in Mistress Anna’s vocal variations, and as such, knew that there was no need to activate his apology subroutine. “We can review it later, thank you.”
“Of course,” Cyan returned to a resting position.
“I don’t like the idea of that thing being with you twenty-six hours a day,” Anna’s mother scolded. “You don’t keep it in your room while you sleep, do you?”
“It’s just a PA android, mother.” Anna rolled her eyes. “It’s not like it cares what I’m wearing. Besides, how would Cyan’s alarm wake me in the morning if it was in another room?”
“Well, you’re old enough to make your own decisions,” Anna’s mother spoke in a tone which Anna had previously identified to Cyan as one meaning anything but. “Still, I don’t think it’s natural to be spending every moment with a robot.”
“He’s not just a robot, mother.” Anna shook her head and sighed. For a moment, Cyan tuned his audio sensors and vocal parsing routines to maximum sensitivity. “Cyan is my personal organizer, my assistant, my bookkeeper for the gardens, and a walking record of every conversation I’ve had. It’s like having the galaxy’s best note-taker following me everywhere I go. I never forget anything.”
Cyan reduced his sensors to normal levels, and activated a game program to keep himself entertained until such time as his mistress once more required his services.
“Happy birthday, starling.” Anna’s father kissed her on the cheek.
Bless Your Mechanical Heart Page 13
