The Medrobo had been deliberately designed not to look human to avoid the “uncanny valley” in design. Hyperion’s designers had determined that designing an almost completely human android was impossible; they could create a shape that appeared human to the naked eye, synthetic “hair” and “skin” that were very convincing, and even emulate the basic sound of a human vocal tract almost perfectly. Yet the closer they came to the human form in theory, the actual reactions of customers became more and more unnerved. Maybe it was the strange flatness in that “perfectly emulated” human voice, the odd lack of muscle movement in the humanesque face, or a stare from those beautiful RealEyes that seemed a bit too glazed and zombielike, but the goal of creating a perfectly human android remained a lost cause. Instead, Hyperion Robotics designed the Medrobo; a squat 5 foot tall, heavily built, and decidedly nonhuman robot that spoke with a thick, mechanical voice. It had two arms to lift with and two legs to walk on, allowing it a humanlike range of motion, but its proportions and build were much bulkier than those of most humans, allowing it to lift and move heavy patients and objects when necessary. It was painted white and had a cylindrical head with two large, round glass eyes, and a smiley sticker someone had put in the middle of its forehead. “How can I help you today?” the machine calmly asked.
“Just checking on Hyams’ condition. I was worried because that venom messed him up pretty bad.”
“Hyams is doing considerably better, as you can see,” the Medrobo said in its uniquely serene, unemotional tone. “The swelling in the inflamed areas has gone down, and he is now conscious and able to eat. However, he still suffers from severe hallucinations that impair his mental capabilities, and is therefore not recommended to leave the facility at this time.”
“But the venom doesn’t appear to have done any permanent damage to his brain or nervous system, has it?”
“No. It appears there is no permanent damage, yet the venom causes extreme physical discomfort, followed by hallucinations. There is a possibility of a temporary coma if the venom is absorbed in large quantities.”
Klein nodded at the robot’s explanation. An idea had begun to form in his head. Hyams was feebly reaching up off the bed and waving his hand in the air, trying to comprehend the world around him. “Look at the streaks…beautiful light streaks…” he feebly muttered while he waved his hand around. Klein turned and headed for the door. “Hope you get better, Hyams,” he said and left the infirmary. Hyams said nothing in response, his mind still lost in venom-induced delusion.
That night, Klein stealthily moved out past the settlement perimeter to put his plan into action. He carried with him his M221, but for once, he doubted he’d need to use it on this mission. The rifle was slung over his shoulder, and the tool most essential to his mission was in his backpack – a large sponge that he had taken from his shower. He could not see the brilliant spiraling constellations of the Domremy night sky through the heavy storm clouds, and the humidity and heat of the air made him almost as sweaty and tired as he would be on patrol during the day. Standing alone in the darkness, Klein listened for the sounds that would guide him to his goal.
He heard the deep, croaking sound he remembered from the day Hyams was poisoned echo across the plain. Va-ron-ey, Va-RON-ey, the deep gurgling sound repeated at quickening intervals. Klein warily moved away from the settlement, through the tall grass, in the direction of the sound. The closer he got, the louder and more booming the sound became. There was a rhythmic, almost hypnotic quality to the croaking that drowned out the distant noises from the settlement, and it came to dominate the air the closer Klein got.
As the sounds of the croaking filled the air, Klein could see a rustling motion in a clump of tall grass. He pushed open the clump of vegetation and saw two of the spiny toad like creatures locked together; a large yellow and black one was lying on its belly, while slightly smaller yellow and green one was groping it enthusiastically. The Va-ron-ey croaks were becoming faster and faster as the creatures became more aroused. Klein took his sponge out of his backpack and put it on the ground close to the creatures. Then, he slowly lined up the butt of his rifle like a putter, and knocked the top toad onto the sponge. The creature frantically thrashed, its spines ripping deep into the sponge as it pulsed its back, pumping in its oily white venom. Klein looked down at the creature and disgust and prepared to shoot it in the chest with his rifle. “Damn Varoneys,” Klein said, as he thought in the back of his mind, Has that damn sound they make left such a big impression on me that I’ve started to call them that by reflex? As he yanked the body off the sponge, the black and yellow Varoney got to its feet and stared at him contemptuously. When he pointed his rifle at it again, the Varoney gave one last defiant croak and hopped off.
Donning gloves, Klein squeezed the sponge hard, dripping the venom from it into the back of an open syringe. He now had the weapon he needed to put Ixtara out of commission, which he hoped would buy him the time he needed to kill Cashman and end the Kinderaugen connection on Domremy for good. He didn’t want to kill Ixtara, and he figured he had taken only enough venom to incapacitate her while he executed his plan. As he walked back to the bar, he planned out his moves for the “date” with her tomorrow.
Ixtara had a nervous look on her face as she walked into the Forlani enclave with Klein. Once they opened the door, Klein could see why. The greeter Forlani at the door lost her well-practiced smile at the site of Ixtara, and she did her best to disguise her shock at the site of the unwelcome new guest. “W-well, what would you like, customer?” Klein knew that he, rather than Ixtara, would have to be the one to handle negotiations with the Forlani working at the enclave. “We’d like an overnight room here. We’ll be spending the rest of our money at the bar, so nothing too fancy, please.” The greeter Forlani brought up a chart on her computer and checked over a map of the enclave’s available rooms. “We have an Economy room available in the Waterfall suite that I think should meet your needs,” the Forlani said, although the look on her face told Klein that she was thinking that room’s too good for one of you two. “We’ll take it,” Klein said, and he and Ixtara walked to the bar.
Klein noticed the reactions of the other Forlani as he and Ixtara walked together. There were angry looks on their faces, and Klein heard the phrase “Ashta!” murmured a couple of times as they walked into the bar. Klein sat down at the bar and ordered a couple of martinis from the bartender. He began to talk with Ixtara as they waited for their drinks.
“You know, on Earth, they say a martini’s a man’s drink,” Klein said.
“Really? I’ve heard human males say differently. Many of them prefer other drinks such as whiskey sour, bourbon, sake…”
``Neither Entara nor Ragatti ever gave a damn about drinking or alcohol of any kind. You’d only know what a “man’s drink” was if someone coached you, Klein thought. “Well, if it’s good enough for James Bond, it’s good enough for me. You’ve seen a Bond film, haven’t you? Guys bring them over from Earth as files on the video players all the time.”
“As a matter of fact, no. I’m not really interested in that sort of entertainment.”
The bartender gave them their two martinis. Ixtara took some time to sip on hers. Finally she answered, “I like to play card games. Poker, blackjack…I enjoy games of skill. You?”
Klein casually took a drink from his martini glass. “I prefer sports, especially football. I was quite the footballer when I was younger. I was just watching Manchester United play against Real Madrid last Sunday. You should’ve seen the touchdown Sanchez scored in that game!”
Ixtara maintained a poker face as best she could, but Klein could see her eyelids tighten in frustration. Forlani may be better at emotional control than many humans, but they’re not perfect. “Yes, that was a spectacular game! Sanchez really…made an excellent play!” She started to drink from the martini glass rapidly, as if she was about to bolt and run for the exit. Klein asked her, “Wasn’t he carrying the ball with his hands when he m
ade that touchdown?” He watched her movement closely and saw her quickly getting up to leave her seat. Klein roughly grabbed Ixtara’s arm, told the bartender, “We’re going to our room now,” and rushed off with her, his drink half-finished.
The room was as barren and dull as its “Economy” designation suggested. It had no pictures hanging on the walls, no video equipment for watching or playing programs, just a sound hologram of a waterfall. It had the barest, cheapest looking bed Klein had ever seen in a bordello. Klein shoved Ixtara into it and angrily yelled, “You’ve been spying for Cashman, haven’t you? I don’t know what shit he’s been feeding you to coach you in Earth culture, but even the most ignorant sap knows that Real Madrid’s “footballers” don’t play with their hands, and they don’t score touchdowns, but goals! Cashman’s an American, and for them, football is a completely different sport where they do play with their hands and score touchdowns! You have two options now; get on that train and get the hell out of this town, or I’ll stab you with this syringe,” Klein said as he quickly pulled out the needle, “and you won’t get up for a month!”
Ixtara reached into her pocket, and in the blindingly quick motion, Klein could see the glint of gunmetal. Klein grabbed her right arm and thrust the syringe hard into the flesh. “Hope you like a long sleep, you bit…”
But Ixtara’s reaction to the venom was far more severe than Hyams’. She shook as violently as he had, but her face turned red. A horrible red swelling quickly appeared all over her body. She released an incoherent scream of pain and fell to the ground. Her shaking abruptly stopped.
Two young Forlani females, both carrying formidable knives, flung open the door and brandished them at Klein. A much older Forlani female, her face wizened with wrinkles, stood behind them. “Hands up, against the wall!” she screamed in heavily accented English. Klein stood still against the wall as the old Forlani laid her hand on the chest of Ixtara, feeling for a heartbeat.
“She’s dead.” The words came out of her mouth without a trace of compassion or sadness for the fallen Ixtara. It was as if a tool had been broken, a mere declarative statement. Klein found her next words even more disconcerting; the old Forlani simply asked him “Why was this woman with you?” as if she was somehow guilty of something, not him. Klein was too confused and disturbed by her bizarre emotional reaction to think up a convincing lie, so he told the truth of his first meeting with her. “She was my…what word do you Forlani prefer…concubine. She came into the bar at Site 89 where I work. Back then, I thought she was just another Forlani looking for work in the sex trade. I didn’t realize that she was a spy for a man who wanted me dead.”
The old Forlani asked him, “How did you discover she was a spy?” There was a sense of disgust in the words, as if she was not shocked that a person such as Ixtara could stoop to such a low. “I am the House Matriarch, the actions of all Forlani here concern me, no matter how dark a path they walk.”
“One of my friends overheard a conversation between her and someone else coming from my room. She was talking about a bunch of strange topics that I haven’t heard any Forlani interested in yet -- football, American football, ‘playing to win.’ It didn’t sound like something a Forlani would say. So I brought her here and gave her an ultimatum that she either had to leave and quit working for Cashman or I’d stick her with that needle,” Cashman said as he pointed at the needle, still stuck in Ixtara’s arm.
“What type of venom did you use?” There was an amused, almost mirthful tone to the Matriarch’s question, even though her face remained rigid and the blades of the other Forlani still aimed at his chest.
“The Varoneys. Those big, ugly toad things that make that goddamn annoying croak. I swear I’m gonna hear that noise in my dreams forever now, it was so loud”
“Ah, you used the venom of the Vile Ones,” the Matriarch said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “A poor choice. It is usually not fatal, and in the rare event that it is, the death is extremely quick. The syringe only had enough to put her out for perhaps a week at most, had she not been allergic.”
Klein undiplomatically blurted out the question that it had been on his mind ever since the Matriarch had pronounced Ixtara dead. “Why do you hate Ixtara so much? What had she done to you?”
The Matriarch sucked in air through her teeth, making a pronounced sa sound. Then she took Klein’s arm. “It is not what this Ashta has done to me. It is what she has done in violation of our culture and our law. Do you understand the significance of the Second Wife to the Forlani marriage?”
“I’ve never seen a second wife,” Klein responded. “I knew a Forlani who wanted to be a First Wife, but never a second.”
The Matriarch continued, “The Second Wife is, in many ways, even more important to the family’s happiness than the First Wife. Forlani males often choose their First Wife based on criteria other than what your kind calls sexual attraction and pleasure. Social standing, career, wealth…all these are extremely important in the choosing of the First Wife. Provided a male has the power to afford a Second Wife, it is her duty to make the man truly happy by flattering his ego. And Rohal, her husband, certainly could afford it. He showered her with rich gifts and affection, but nothing could win her attentions unless he divorced his First Wife and let her take the place of honor! A divorce! Such a thing is forbidden for any marriage among the Forlani! Like any honest male, he refused her request. So she left him one night to ‘make her own way,’ as she said it, and never returned. Rohal told me this from behind the bars of his cell, for in desperation he has Taken the White and can no longer walk among those who are sane.”
Klein struggled to understand the psychology of Rohal and the other Forlani males. “He went insane because he couldn’t have her?”
The Matriarch nodded. “Forlani males are not like the men of Earth. When they lose their wives, if they truly value them, they go completely mad. They are dependent on us, precious things to be treasured. Ixtara did not honor her husband, she only loved power and wealth. She could not be a part of our society. She was Ashta, to be shunned, driven out, and hated forever by our people. And the only reason I have not had you stabbed to death is because the life of Ashta is worth less than nothing; many of us would have tried to kill her, too, if we had the chance.”
Klein told her, “Cut into the back of her neck and you’ll find out what she did with her life after she left Rohal.” Still curious, the Matriarch motioned for one of the other Forlani to bring forth her knife. The Matriarch sliced into the back of Ixtara’s neck delicately and brought out a tiny computer chip, its metallic sheen glinting amid the blood.
“This is the proof that she was a spy, correct?” the Matriarch asked.
“Yes, that’s the Kinderaugen chip,” Klein said. “She was working for the man who wanted me dead. He’s the only person I know who might have access to this tech on Domremy.”
The Matriarch’s face turned as hard as stone as she looked into his eyes. “This woman was Ashta, and that is the only reason you still live. You did not kill her. She committed suicide in this enclave, and no one else was in this room when it happened. This does not change the fact that I do not trust you. You will leave this enclave, and kill the man who made a spy of her. You will never return or ask for the services of any of the Forlani who live here, and if you do, you will be slain. Understand?”
“You won’t tell the other Forlani enclaves what happened here tonight, will you?”
“No. This enclave will not be known as a place of death unless you return. Get out of my sight. NOW,” the Matriarch insisted. Klein nodded and quickly left the room. He wanted to leave this place, the site of disturbing revelations about the nature of Forlani sexual politics and Ixtara’s earlier days, as soon as possible. As he walked out the front door, Klein realized that he wasn’t as disturbed at the truth about Ixtara and the Forlani as he was at the truth about himself. All his earlier killings he had rationalized as self-defense, but for the first time, he had truly engag
ed in premeditated murder. I finally belong on this rock, he thought as he walked off into the dark in the direction of the train station.
Cashman paced around his office, waiting for his meeting with Spenser. Ixtara’s Kinderaugen implant had stopped transmitting Friday night, and although he had not recovered her body yet, the audio files prior to her death left little doubt as to what had happened to her. Klein knows I’ll be able to assemble evidence against him quickly, no matter how much the Forlani stonewall my attempts to get the corpse. I’d better make my move to get rid of him soon—I won’t be getting any more info out of him now. Cashman sat down in his chair and began to think through his options for liquidating Klein.
His attempt to find a way to dispose of Klein was interrupted when Spenser barged through the door into his office. “Howdy Cashman, how’s it going? I got a great proposal for ya!” Like hell you do, Mr. “I’m trying to be a Southern gentlemen yet I can’t remember to knock before I enter” Eckhart, Cashman thought. “What’s your idea?” Cashman asked Spenser.
Life Sentence (Forlani Saga Book 1) Page 10
