Alliance

by Timothy L. Cerepaka

  “But what about Sir Alart?” I say. “Surely he can vouch for my innocence, can't he? That is, if he survived against Jornan and her minions.”

  “Sir Alart did indeed survive and in fact is the Knight who started the investigation, because he initially discovered the corpses of his allies,” says Konoa. He flips through some of his papers, which appears to be a habit more than anything. “Sir Alart has argued for your innocence, but no on believes him, especially since he was not there to witness whether you did or did not kill them. He may be the only ally you have on this world, but that doesn't mean much.”

  I say nothing in response to that. It's good that Sir Alart is defending me, but I understand why Konoa does not think much of it.

  “So if you were to walk out of this building and make your way back to, say, Ra-Dela, you would be arrested on the spot by any Knights on duty,” says Konoa. “Or maybe get captured by a greedy bounty hunter looking for a quick delane on your way there. So I hope you understand why we cannot let you leave, at least right now.”

  “I understand,” I say, nodding. “But that does not mean I think you made the right decision. I can prove my innocence because I recorded the details of that night in my head, in my memory banks.”

  I tap the side of my head as I say, “All I need to do is return to Xeeo and reconnect with the Database. It will then be able to display my memories of the incident onto a telescreen, which we can then show to the Knights of Se-Dela to clear my name. A brilliant plan, yes?”

  Unfortunately, none of the Foundation agents appear entirely excited about my plan, even though it seems entirely rational and foolproof to me. That tells me that there must be some other variable I am overlooking, but what it is, I do not know.

  Then Konoa looks down at his papers and says, “While that is certainly not the worst plan I have ever heard, it is unlikely to work.”

  “Unlikely?” says Rozan. He laughs. “I'd say it's impossible to work, given the circumstances.”

  “Impossible?” I repeat. “Why would you say that? After all, this is not merely hearsay. I can offer actual footage of the night when the lizard creatures attacked us. There is no way that any reasonable being could possibly dispute my story if they see my memories.”

  “I said 'given the circumstances,'” Rozan says. He rubs his forehead. “And given the current circumstances, the peoples of Dela are likely to think you doctored the footage to make yourself appear innocent, while the peoples of Xeeo will defend you. I'm not saying this could lead to a war between worlds, but—”

  “It won't, although I doubt it will help relations between the worlds, either,” says Konoa, glaring at Rozan as if to tell him to shut up. “The problem is that the Delanians are pretty skeptical of recorded footage of any sort. As Rozan said, they will think you altered it to make you appear innocent, and I doubt any of them will listen to any arguments to the contrary.”

  What Konoa says is true. I know for a fact that most Delanians do not trust Xeeonite recording tech, even though many Delanians are eager to use our other types of technology for their own uses. Konoa's warning is worth listening to, even though it paints his own people in a bad light (assuming Konoa is even Delanian; while he does appear to speak Delan very well, that does not mean he is a native of this world).

  “Also,” Rozan adds, “you've recorded some memories of Palos, who, like the rest of us, technically doesn't even exist. Letting you go out and show everyone your memories would expose us, which isn't a real possibility for us at the moment.”

  “Is that the true reason you do not want to let me go?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest. “Because you do not want the rest of society to find out about you?”

  “It is one reason,” says Konoa, nodding. “The Head has worked hard to keep us under the radar and she does not want all of her hard work undone by a single robot like yourself.”

  “But if you are indeed good, then why operate in the shadows?” I ask. “Why not work directly with the J bots and the Knights of Se-Dela, among other public organizations dedicated to fighting for justice? They might be useful allies in your conflict with Reunification.”

  “You're starting to ask questions we can't answer again,” says Rozan. “You know that, don't you?”

  I frown. “I do now, although that does not erase the validity of my questions.”

  “It may very well not,” says Konoa, “but as Rozan says, we can't answer that. You'll just have to trust us.”

  “I cannot fully trust people or organizations that do not exist in the Database,” I say. I reach behind myself and feel the door, but it is still locked by the witch's skyras energy. “Not until you tell me everything about this organization, even though I know you won't.”

  “We don't need to,” says Rozan. He rests his short legs on the floor and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table as he looks at me. “After all, you aren't even an agent like the rest of us. You're just a guest, and an annoying one at that.”

  “Then what will you do with me?” I ask. I gesture at the stone room we all stand in. “Put me in another room with magic straps? Keep me as your prisoner in this place? Will I ever be allowed to leave this building under my own free will?”

  “Only the Head can answer that,” says Konoa. “But for now, yes, you have to stay here. You know too much about us that it would be foolish for us to let you go, even if we wiped your memory clean first.”

  “But I must report back to the Database,” I say. “I do not think you Foundation agents understand how urgent it is for me to do so.”

  “We don't care,” says Rozan, rolling his eyes. “Now, we've answered your questions, so I think it's time we put you back where you—”

  Rozan is interrupted by a powerful surge of skyras in this room that even I can tell is not from any of the Foundation members present here. Before I can locate the surge's source, a massive pinkish light bursts into existence over the table. Its sudden appearance causes some of the agents to jump out of their seats, although I notice that Konoa and the witch stay seated, despite the astonished expressions on their faces.

  The pink light floats in the air for a brief period before morphing into the form of a vaguely human woman. She looks down on the agents seated around the table, while ignoring me. Scanners indicate that the giant pink woman is made of pure skyras energy, a phenomenon which I have never seen before in person, although I am aware that some Delanian magic users can conjure these kinds of 'skyras ghosts,' as they call them.

  Then the skyras ghost says, in an unusually loud voice, “Konoa, Rozan, everyone! There has been an attack on the Xeeonite branch. Xeeonite agents are flooding into the base by the dozens. Every agent currently within HQ must report to the Tower immediately!”

  “What?” says Konoa in shock. “Ma'am, what is—”

  “No time to explain,” says the skyras ghost. She puts her hands together, like she is begging them to help. “You can speak to Lanresia, who is the only survivor in any shape to talk. But you must hurry, because she is dying even as we speak.”

  ***

  Chapter 5

  As soon as the pink lady says that, she vanishes into nothingness, leaving behind nothing to indicate she even existed aside from a higher level of skyras energy lingering in the room, although my scanners say that even that is rapidly dissipating.

  Before I can ask who that woman is or what she means, Konoa and the other agents stand up. I expect them to run toward the door, but instead, Konoa says to the witch, “Rina, teleport us to Tower. We have no time to lose.”

  The witch, whose name must be Rina, raises her left hand, but before she teleports them away, I step forward and say, “Wait. What is going on? What are you going to do with me? Are you just going to leave me here or may I come as well?”

  Rozan tosses me an irritated glare. “You're not even an agent. Why do you think we'd take you with us? You weren't summoned, after all.”

  “Actually, I think he can come with us if he want
s,” says Konoa. He nods at me. “He's a good robot, so I doubt he'll cause us any harm. Besides, we don't have time to put him back in his room, so we might as well bring him with us, where we can keep an eye on him.”

  Konoa must have more authority over his fellow agents than I initially thought, because none of the other agents argue or disagree with him. Rozan rolls his eyes about this decision, but like the rest of them he does not disagree.

  Without any further objections from the others, the witch known as Rina snaps her fingers. Then the room changes so abruptly that at first my sensors fail to indicate that our surroundings have changed at all, even though I can tell that they have.

  We are standing inside a massive, wide-open chamber, with cobblestone walls, floor, and ceiling just like the last room we were in. Only this time, rather than having a large round table in the center of the room, there is an unusually large Crossways Portal standing on a slightly raised platform. It appears to be made out of stone, as most Delanian Portals tend to be, and is currently active, based on the fact that I can see the odd textures and strange green-and-purple portal within the ring itself.

  But we are not alone in this room. People of various species—ranging from humans to the bird-like Checrom—are exiting the Portal and being guided toward the exit on the far end of the room by other people, who are probably Foundation agents, although their lack of any uniform or identifying symbols makes that hard for me to confirm. Still, the fact that all of them are here is proof enough of their allegiance.

  The people coming from the Portal appear wounded and afraid. One of them, a male human, limps along, while a female Checrom has most of her feathers burned off and her beak chipped at the tip. Another person, this one a female human, steps through the portal and immediately falls face forward, but is caught in time by Rina, who I did not realize had teleported over there to catch her just in time.

  One of the injured Foundation agents—because that is who these people must be, if the Head's message is accurate—carried past me is a male Jikorian with three deep gashes in his chest. He is completely unconscious, but I do a quick scan of him anyway as his handlers pass me.

  Scanners indicate that the Jikorian male is a Xeeonite, because I detect several implants in his body, among them a camera in his left eye that he likely uses to take pictures with. But I do not learn much else about him, because soon he is taken out of the room through the large double doors at the other end, although where he is taken, I do not know.

  As I stand there, the other Foundation agents who teleported with me move to help their injured comrades. Even Konoa goes to help, but before he does, a feminine voice says, “Konoa!”

  Both Konoa and I look in the direction of that voice. A human woman is walking toward us, passing the long line of Foundation agents who are transporting their injured allies out of the room. Even so, she looks at each wounded agent as they pass, even mutters what sounds like a prayer under her breath, but I cannot tell what she mutters because it is in a language I do not recognize.

  My first impression is that this woman is human, but as she walks closer to us, the information my scanners give me make no sense. She has an unusually high skyras energy level, much higher than even Rina's, but she has no rings on her fingers with which to hold her skyras. What makes her skyras level so remarkable is that she should be unable to so much as walk with all of that energy flowing through her, but she moves as easily as anyone else in the room. If anything, she appears to move even more gracefully than the others.

  Another thing I notice about her is her body. Her back appears much larger and swollen than the rest of her body, although with her silver robes I am unable to determine if that is a natural part of her anatomy or if it is somehow a mechanical implant or magical distortion. Even my scanners can't identify it.

  And like with all of the Foundation agents (of which there appear to be many, based on the amount of agents flooding in from the Portal and the amount of agents aiding those agents in leaving this room), I find no files on her in the mobile Database at all. At this point, I am tempted to stop using the mobile Database entirely, although that is nothing but an idle thought.

  “Ma'am,” says Konoa, turning to face the woman as she approaches. He bows deeply, which tells me that this woman must be highly important. “What happened? Why are so many of our Xeeonite brethren so badly injured?”

  “Lanresia will tell us,” says the woman as she approaches us. “I'll take you to her.”

  I raise a hand. “May I come with you two? I would also like to learn what happened, even though I am not a Foundation agent.”

  The woman stops and looks at me carefully with her blue eyes, like I am a possible threat. Her fingers twitch, like she is going to cast a spell on me, but she does nothing.

  Instead, she nods and says, “If you wish.”

  Then she turns and walks toward the exit again. Konoa and I follow, although I notice Konoa keeps looking back at the Portal and seemingly-endless stream of injured Foundation agents coming from it (although I notice that the stream is thinning). He must care very deeply about his fellow agents, which adds more evidence to my theory that Konoa is a high-ranking member of this organization.

  It does not take us long to leave the room and enter a hallway similar to the one I had been in earlier, only slightly wider and with more people. The Delanian agents are taking their Xeeonite counterparts into what appears to be a medical room on the other side of the hall, but the woman does not lead us into that room.

  Instead, she turns to the right and walks a few feet before stopping in front of a plain-looking stone door. She pushes the door open and enters without hesitation, followed by Konoa, and then myself.

  The room we enter is almost too small after the wide-openness of the Portal room. It reminds me of the room they kept me in when I was first taken here, only it is a little bigger and personable, with a bookshelf along one wall and a bed with white sheets up against the opposite wall.

  On the bed lies an elf, but she is not a Delanian elf. While she is tall and has clear skin, like most elves, she is also bald, a trend among Xeeonian woman that pegs her as a Xeeonite native. Another hint is her speaking snake, a machine attached to her waist like a belt that is designed to speak for her, which means she must be a mute.

  The elf herself is injured, although not as badly as some of the other Foundation agents I saw earlier. A cut runs along the bridge of her nose, while her left arm is broken and in a sling now. One of the speaking snake's optics has been burned out, although aside from that burned out optic, the rest of the machine appears perfectly functional.

  The elf looks up at us when we enter. She smiles at Konoa, but then looks at me in confusion.

  “Who is that?” says the elf, although it is actually her speaking snake that speaks, its voice more mechanical and monotone than an organic's voice. “I have never seen him before.”

  “He's a … guest,” says the woman, who glances at me when she says that. “Don't worry. You can trust him as much as you can trust me.”

  Lanresia relaxes, which tells me that she must trust this woman a great deal.

  As for Konoa, he is at Lanresia's side before I even realize it. He grabs her hand and holds it tightly, his eyes focused exclusively on Lanresia, like he thinks he might never see her again. Scanners indicate that his pheromone levels are quite high, although that is irrelevant to our current situation, so I do not focus on it.

  “Lanresia, my love,” says Konoa, never taking his eyes off her for even a second. “I was so worried when I heard you were injured, but I am glad to see you have survived.”

  “I'm happy to see you, too, Konoa,” says Lanresia, her pheromone levels as high as his. “I thought for sure I was going to be a goner there, but thankfully I managed to escape before they could kill me.”

  I look at the woman, who now has her arms folded across her chest, and ask, “Why did you put Lanresia in this room separate from the other agents?”

&nb
sp; “Because I want to be the first to know about what happened on Xeeo,” says the woman, without looking at me. “Then I will tell the others, who are already frightened and stressed by this sudden and unexpected turn of events. The truth, whatever it is, will worsen their stress, so it is better I hear the story first so I can deliver it later, after this situation becomes less stressful.”

  I cock my head to the side. “Are you the Head?”

  The woman nods, still keeping her eyes on Lanresia and Konoa. “Yes. But that does not matter at the moment. What matters is Lanresia's story. Lanresia, will you tell us what happened?”

  Lanresia looks at the Head and me, although even I can tell she would rather continue to stare into Konoa's eyes than talk about her experiences. Scanners indicate that Lanresia's stress levels—which had dropped noticeably when Konoa entered the room—are rising again, rising much higher than is healthy for your average elf according to Database records on typical stress levels for elves.

  “It was … horrible,” says Lanresia with a shudder. “I don't want to talk about it at all, but I will anyway, because I don't want a repeat here of what happened there.”

  “Her stress levels are rising quite high,” I say. “While I am no med-bot, I question the wisdom of having her relate her experiences so soon after the traumatic event she just experienced.”

  “I'll be fine,” says Lanresia, waving at me with her other hand. “I just need a moment to figure out where to start.”

  “That's fine, my love,” says Konoa, who strokes her other hand gently. “Take your time. We don't want to stress you out too much.”

  Lanresia goes silent and appears to be thinking. Then she says, “Well, I should get straight to the point: The Xeeonite HQ was attacked by a group of humanoid lizard creatures that can breathe fire.”

  “Humanoid lizard creatures?” I repeat, unable to stop myself. “Did they, by chance, resemble—”

  “J997,” says the Head, glaring at me. “Don't interrupt her. Save your questions for when she finishes her story.”