Writers of the Future, Volume 28

by L. Ron Hubbard

  The candle on her desk cast a thin circle of light, leaving the room half dark, but the dried tears on her cheeks were still visible. The pistons in his chest quickened at the sight of her long neck, the birdlike delicacy of her face, the ghost-pale loveliness of her skin and the shape of her body half hidden underneath her nightgown. He could not sit on her bed without breaking it, so he stood. She put her book down on the desk. “You’ve met my fiancé?” she said. Her tone was light, deliberately airy.

  “He is very certain of himself.”

  She smiled. “Papa’s title will be very important in Mr. Maul’s election campaign. Men take their right to vote for granted, don’t they?” And then her composure melted in tears and she hugged him around the legs. Heat extended from his chest outwards as his engine increased its work rate. He patted her on the head, wanting more than anything to take her golden hair into his hands and kiss her. But his emotion was simply a command from a senile homunculus, so all he did was comfort her.

  “I’m sorry,” Anna said. “It is so unfair.” She dried her eyes. “My studies were always meaningless. I’d never be allowed to work. But now I can’t even matriculate.”

  “Maul plans to send me to Anterior Talus,” he said.

  Anna’s face drained. “No, he can’t.”

  “Your father has always paid me generous wages,” he said. “I’m not property!” The heat with which he spoke surprised Ligish. The desires of homunculi were a mystery to all but God, but in this, at least, his commanding homunculus felt the same.

  Anna disengaged and picked up the book from her desk. She flipped pages and then traced the relevant passage with her finger as she read aloud. “Only male humans possess the power of self-awareness and thus have domain over the nonthinking. The nonthinking are defined as homunculi, beasts, golems and women.” Anger flashed across her face. “He visited Papa two hours ago and now I’m married.”

  Ligish bowed his head. It was his fault. If he hadn’t been so absorbed in finding a solution to his love problems, then he’d have received General Maul. He might have refused him entry or at least been with Master Gray while they negotiated the wedding contract.

  “The courts must overturn your engagement,” he said. “Forgive me, Miss Anna, but your father is not of a sound mind. Yesterday, he mistook me for your deceased Aunt Joan.”

  Anna parted the curtains and pointed out the window. Two men in Arteria Carotis army uniforms stood outside the entrance. One smoked a cigarette. The other rested upon the stock of his ghost-fist rifle.

  “Now I’m engaged, I’m no longer a girl,” she said. “Outside the home, women must be accompanied by two guards to protect their virtue.” She shut the curtains. “There’s a guard at the kitchen door. A pair patrol the outer grounds. All because I’m a valuable possession. There’s a man outside Papa’s room to protect him in his fragile health.” She sat on the bed and buried her head in her hands.

  Ligish knelt, the floorboards creaking, and took her hands. “Miss Gray, do not despair. We’ll find a way to petition the court.”

  “I must attend in person to annul a marriage.” She rubbed her eyes. “Liggy, can you please guard my door until Maul retires?”

  A cog in his chest slipped off its belt for a moment, before sliding back into place. “He wouldn’t dare defile you.”

  “I feel safe with you,” she said. “It’s a request, Liggy, not a command. Please.”

  He stood and bowed. “I’ll do whatever you ask for eternity. I’ll always be your servant, no matter who my master is.”

  She hugged him. At her touch, his engines heated and Anna flinched and gasped. “Liggy, have you been trying to dig a well again?” she said. “You know you shouldn’t dig through granite. Your engine is overheating. I can feel your armor softening. What happens if you run out of power?”

  He smiled. “I’d wait until I recharged. All I need is time.” His engine cooled. He kissed her on the forehead and then left, taking her law book with him.

  The corridor was dark, but he needed very little light to read. The more he read, the less likely it seemed the marriage contract could be annulled. She must have known her chances of success were minimal, though it wouldn’t stop her from trying.

  Ligish surveyed the house’s security every year, knew every single possible exit. Anna hadn’t yet thought of climbing through her window onto the roof, but she would. The roof was wet with moss, and it was a long fall to the pavement. Ice water surged over his compression cylinder at the idea of her falling. There must be some other way of saving her that didn’t involve smuggling her from the house to the court.

  The scrape and flare of a match being struck caught Ligish’s attention. General Maul lit a pipe, puffed a plume of smoke before the match died. He limped toward Ligish.

  “Each time I see you, I realize how remarkable you are,” he said, the embers in his pipe glowing. “You must have some influence over your homunculus if you came here instead of obeying my commands. I should have expected that from such an ancient soul. Are you guarding her virtue?”

  Ligish wanted to snap an insult, but his homunculus kept his mouth shut. Instead, it fanned out his arm blades and fire slings. Maul touched a blade and withdrew, blood trickling down his finger. His expression didn’t change. “By God, if we’d had you in Suprasternal Notch, the war would have finished before it began . . .” For a moment, his eyes moistened with nostalgia. “Which side did you fight upon in the Transpyloric Plane War?”

  “For the Empire.”

  “On the wrong side. Let us hope history doesn’t repeat in Anterior Talus.” Maul tapped out the ash from his pipe and then ground it into the rug underfoot. “Tell her I prefer my women dark of skin, meek of mouth and experienced in sensual pleasures. I’ll refrain from exercising my conjugal rights until the wedding if she refrains from a legal challenge and does not leave the house.”

  Maul limped away. His talk of the Transpyloric Plane War stirred old memories. Ligish hadn’t wanted to serve the Empire. His homunculus had been created by the Emperor and it wrote merciless commands. He’d been under water, guarding the western border from the rebel’s navy, when a little granite golem had passed a carved stone message stating the Emperor had been poisoned by his own guard. His homunculus had commanded him to walk to land and wait for the Emperor, and hence itself, to die. He’d woken up three hundred years later when Master Gray’s grandfather had discovered him under jungle creepers and inserted a new homunculus into his skull.

  Remembering the past often inspired his current homunculus to take some sort of action, but it gave no commands. He’d hoped it would find a clever way to free Anna. It was hopeless. There was no safe way for her to leave the house. Then it struck him. Did she need to? Petitioning the court to invalidate the marriage contract on the grounds of fraud or deceit was doomed to failure. But as far as Ligish could see, no one had ever tried to exempt a woman from the list of possessions on the basis that they could think. Most reasonable men accepted some women could think and all he needed was for one bishop to declare Anna a thinking entity.

  Bishop Calvaria was known for his liberal views. Surely, he could carve out an exception based upon Anna’s continued legal studies? Besides, the bishop wouldn’t risk offending the lawyers’ guild by inferring that self-awareness was not necessary to become a lawyer. If Bishop Calvaria would grant an exception, then her marriage contract would be invalid.

  As it sometimes did, his homunculus acted upon his thoughts. Ligish started to march toward the broad central staircase. Despite Ligish’s misgivings, his homunculus must have decided Maul’s word could be trusted. As Ligish passed each occupied room, he scooped up the tin bedpans by the doorways. At the bottom of the stairs, he poured the contents into an ancient vase as tall as a man and then he headed toward the grand entrance. Even with the night soil’s stink, the air was musty with mildew. There were holes in the roof and
frequent rain. He’d done his best in patching temporary repairs, but Master Gray had never been a practical man and neither was his homunculus.

  The two soldiers guarding the front door raised their silver ghost-fist rifles, the runes along the barrels gleaming in the moonlight.

  “There are many chores to do before dawn,” Ligish said. He thrust the vase underneath their noses, hoping they wouldn’t notice the unusual container. “And among them is removing the night soil. Do you wish to do it?”

  The soldiers wrinkled their noses and waved him on. Once around the corner, Ligish discarded the vase and continued his walk toward the Holy Corpus Cathedral. Though he did not know exactly where the cathedral was located, he could see the Holy Zeppelin floating over the skyline. A rope tethered the Holy Zeppelin to the cathedral’s skull and its sheer size meant it could be seen from anywhere in the city. He kept his eyes on the zeppelin until he knew how to reach the cathedral.

  The cathedral was built in the shape of an upright version of the world, with the doors set in the building’s feet and the area of worship housed within the lower stomach. A cadre of red-robed religious soldiers guarded the feet, their posture ramrod straight and ghost-fist pistols in their belts. They scattered as Ligish approached the cathedral’s legs. A fleeing soldier fired blindly over his shoulder, a bolt of ghostly energy emanating from the barrel. The bolt unfolded into a giant phantasmal fist that arrowed towards Ligish. He battered it away, and the fist turned into stone and shattered on the ground.

  He knocked on the cathedral doors and to his surprise, they opened. A short man with a cascade of chins and a drink-ruined red nose peered up at him through sleep-mussed eyes. The skin on his bald head was leathery and fire-scarred.

  “Yes?” The man didn’t appear perturbed by the lack of guards.

  “I’m looking for Bishop Calvaria,” Ligish said. “I’ve a question of law.”

  The little man drew himself up, puffing out his chest, and then chuckled at his own foolishness. “I’m Bishop Calvaria,” the man said. “Who is your master?”

  “Master Henry Gray.”

  Surprise crossed over Calvaria’s face. “He was my teacher of homunculi creation at Arteria Carotis University. He must be one hundred years old by now.”

  “One hundred and two and a first time father at eighty-three,” Ligish said. “He’s led a full life, but his time is coming to a close. I’ve an urgent legal question regarding his much-loved daughter.”

  “He’s a heretic and he took great pleasure in ridiculing my religious beliefs. He wants me to change the law, I suppose?”

  This wasn’t the way it was meant to happen. If he couldn’t convince Calvaria to change the law, he had no way of preventing Anna’s marriage. The words poured out. “Please,” Ligish said. “His daughter is greatly loved. She’s adored, completely and utterly. She’s in great peril if you do not change the law.” He knelt, the old cobblestones crumbling beneath his weight, and he clasped his hands in supplication. “Please.”

  Calvaria hesitated and then gestured for Ligish to follow him up the stairs. Ligish was fond of Anna, no doubt, but he couldn’t have given such a passionate speech without the homunculus’ intercession. It was going to get him in trouble. Despite his misgivings, he followed Calvaria.

  Ligish walked with his mouth ajar at the cathedral’s splendor. Filling every inch of the vast roof was a richly detailed painting of the world. The church believed the world was the living body of God and they had a sacred reverence for cartography, geography and the environment. The painting showed the mountains along God’s ribs, the nation-spanning desert across His chest, every single city populating His abdomen and shoulders, even the polar ice by His feet where the crumbling empire of Anterior Talus hid in the darkness far from the sun in His right hand. The vast metropolis of Arteria Carotis, home to five million thinking and an unknown number of nonthinking, was a dot on the arteries of His neck.

  “Forgive my ignorance, your holiness,” Ligish said. “The Gray family believes the world is not God’s body, so I’ve never had the opportunity to ask why God’s face is blank above the bottom lip.”

  “Some might say it is blasphemy to show an image of God’s face.” He paused. “To be frank, that’s a load of rubbish. We do not know God’s face because His holy breath is far too hot to risk crossing and the sides of His head are populated with terrible monsters.” He tapped his scarred and bald head. “When I first became bishop, I flew to God’s bottom lip to hear His voice. Unfortunately, I had very long hair, and it caught on fire as I leaned over the edge.”

  There was a large marble rock in the cathedral’s center, surrounded by long wooden pews. The rock was about the right size for Ligish to sit upon and be at Calvaria’s level.

  “You know you’re sitting on the altar, don’t you?” Calvaria said. Ligish stood. “No, sit. The number of novices who think I don’t notice the cigarette marks is truly astonishing. Which law do you want me to change?”

  Ligish sat again. “Miss Gray is being forced into an unsuitable marriage. I need you to declare her a thinking entity, so that the marriage contract is invalid.”

  Calvaria climbed onto the altar and sat next to Ligish. “Henry signed the contract?”

  “Master Gray has not been of a sound mind for the last few years,” he said. “If he were, he’d not consent to this marriage.”

  “Bring her to me.”

  “I can’t, but she’s due to graduate with her law degree with honors.”

  “The test for the self-awareness is long established under church law,” Calvaria said. “If I cannot tell the difference between her and a man in a supervised blind exchange of letters, then she has free will and intelligence. The exchange must be here.”

  “How about if I take the test?” he said. “Surely, if I can pass, then it can be inferred that Miss Gray can too?”

  “Are you asking me to prove by induction that anything more intelligent than a golem is self-aware?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’d overturn the foundations of our society for this girl?”

  “I would and I will,” he said. “I’ll pass your test for her.”

  Calvaria stood. “I wish I could help you, Golem. But it is written in the book of Saint Searle that a golem cannot pass the letter test.”

  “Why not?”

  “If I took out your homunculus, could you say a word?” Ligish opened his mouth and closed it again. Calvaria kept talking. “Can you understand the commands from your homunculus? No? Saint Searle proved by philosophy that homunculi are not capable of independent thought. They’re simply a distillation of their creator’s will, like a piece of music or a sonnet. You may act intelligently, but that does not mean you can think.”

  “Please, there must be some way I can invalidate her wedding contract,” he said.

  “It is church law and only the word of God Himself could change it.” Ligish tried to argue further, but a loud knock interrupted. “God’s bowels, who is it now?” Calvaria cupped his hands around his mouth. “It’s past midnight and I do not want to change my golem provider.”

  General Maul’s voice rang out. “We believe a rogue golem has taken refuge in your church. I am General Maul and I ask for entry.”

  “Can’t say I’ve seen anything like a golem in here,” Calvaria shouted. He spoke in a lower voice to Ligish. “God’s mouth, General bloody Maul of all people,” he said. “He may not be a loveable man, but he is a busy one. Your mistress only needs to perform her marital duties once or twice a year. Before the exchange of contracts, she should sell you to a mining company operating on the underside of His back or somewhere else humans can’t live.”

  “You said only the word of God would change church law?”

  Calvaria stared blankly. “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll ask God to change the law.” Ligish’s words surprised him. W
hat impelled his homunculus to say such a thing?

  “I’ve finished being polite,” Maul yelled and the doors burst asunder, men with a battering ram stumbling through the entrance. Maul followed them. Soldiers fanned behind him, carrying grappling hook guns, nets and ghost-fist pistols. Ligish extended the fire slingers from his shoulders and the blades sharp-clicked from his hands, elbows and feet.

  The soldiers stopped. Maul continued to limp forward. “He won’t hurt you,” he said. “Gray would never allow his homunculus to issue such commands.”

  Master Gray had never forbidden him to fight, but Maul was right. The thought of combat horrified Master Gray. Ligish kept his blades and fire slingers extended, but the soldiers detected a change in his attitude and inched forward. Maul used his cane to direct soldiers to either side of Ligish. “Use your nets and hooks to slow him down,” he said. “Surround and pin him. His only vulnerable point is the back of his skull. Fire there and kill the homunculus within.”

  Calvaria strode forward, talking rapidly. “I must protest. We’re discussing serious theological questions and—”

  Maul pushed Calvaria to the ground with one hand and stepped over his prone body. One of the soldiers pulled the trigger on his grappling gun. With a pneumatic hiss, the hook streaked through the air. Ligish battered it aside. The hook dragged back across the marble floor as the soldier recranked his gun.

  “That’s it,” Maul cried. “Drag him to the ground!”

  Grappling hooks flew through the air. He battered most of them aside, but two hooked into his arm. He pulled hard, sweeping the soldiers off their feet. With his hand blades, he hacked at the ropes until he was free. He picked up a wooden pew with one hand and swung it in a wide arc. The soldiers were forced to step back.

  Maul limped within range and Ligish had to halt his swing an inch away from his head. “See!” he said. “The golem cannot harm us with his current homunculus.”