Rakaan caught Charly glaring at him and went to her next. “What are you doing?”
“None of your business,” she said, pulling the writing pad to her chest.
In a surprisingly quick motion, he reached out and snatched the pad from her grasp. Looking over her drawing, he chuckled again. “I like it,” he said, tossing the writing pad into her lap.
Unexpectedly, Laura entered the bunkroom and went directly to her bed, where she curled herself into a ball, fresh tearstains on her face. Atticus followed, looking pleased with himself. Charly went to Laura and pulled her into her arms. Rakaan chuckled again.
“What’s with you guys?” Charly said, vehemently. “Do you get some kind of sick kick out of hurting us like this?”
“Charly, I am sorry,” Atticus replied. “I do not wish to hurt you. It is simply the learning process, my dear. Learning is rarely easy. Javier is having some difficulty understanding. And I am just helping Laura see the truth.”
“The truth?” she said, glaring at him.
Arthur waved a hand, trying to get her attention. She saw it, but ignored him.
“Here’s some truth for ya: You’re an effin’ bully. And bullies don’t ever get what they really want. So leave us alone.”
Atticus paused and tilted his head back as if he was letting her words wash over him. “Charly, my dear. I knew I had saved the best for last. You are so full of emotional energy. It just pours out of you.”
“Yeah, well you can think twice about getting anything else out of me, especially if you treat my friends like this. And quit calling me ‘dear.’”
“Wonderful! It just keeps coming.” Atticus looked at Rakaan. “Rakaan, do you see this? Is she not a river of gold?”
“I see it,” Rakaan said. “But it is not gold. It is defiance, and it should be dealt with—aggressively.”
“Rakaan. Be mindful of yourself. Your anger is one of your greatest assets to me, but you must learn to manage it if you wish to become the leader you aspire to.”
Rakaan growled quietly.
“In fact,” Atticus continued, “I think it would be good for you to stay with our guests for a while . . . to practice.”
“No, Atticus. I need to speak with you; then I have urgent duties to attend to.”
“You will do as I say,” Atticus corrected in a calm, cool voice. “Stay with them while I meet with Charly; then we can discuss whatever it is you have come to tell me.”
Rakaan stood silent, but Charly could see his metal frame trembling.
Atticus turned to leave. “Charly, come with me, my dear. Let us continue this delightful discourse in the lounge.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Atticus stopped and turned to look at her. “You say what you mean, don’t you?”
“Wow! You might just be ready to graduate to kindergarten.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Arthur wince, again.
Atticus paused, considering his response. “Well, I say what I mean too. You—and your friends—shall be confined to this room and you will not receive any food or water until you come to meet with me. Let me know when you are ready. I will be waiting in the cafeteria.” As he turned to leave, he pointed at Rakaan. “You, come and tell me your business.”
When they were gone, Charly’s three fellows sat on the edge of their beds and stared at her.
“Charly,” Arthur said earnestly, “you can’t continue this open defiance. It is like cat and mouse for him. You are a game . . . for now. He will eventually grow tired of you, and there is no telling what he’ll do. He is only predictable in his megalomania, which makes him very unpredictable. Please stop this for your own sake. Play along until we can figure out our options. Please.”
Charly looked around at all of them, a tear starting to roll down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just so tired of bullies and mean people getting their way, pushing me around, pushing my friends around. I don’t really care what he does to me. But the last thing I want to do is hurt any of you.” She pushed herself up from her bed. “I’ll go.”
As she started toward the door, Arthur stood and stopped her, gripping her shoulders gently in his hands. She hung her head, sniffling. “Charly, look at me.” Reluctantly, she looked up at him, sadness in her eyes. “This is about you, Charly. You are worth caring for. We care for you. I care for you.”
Tears were rolling down her cheek now, but Arthur wasn’t through.
“You have a wondrous destiny ahead. There is a future full of people that will need you and who care about you. It would be a great loss for all of us if you were not here. Take care for yourself, because we don’t want to lose you. Do you understand me?”
She swallowed hard, struggling to answer him.
“Will you please remember this before you push him further . . . to take care, for yourself?” Arthur’s tone pleaded for a response.
All Charly could think about was Arthur, Laura, and Javier. She would protect them now and decide about herself later. Wiping at her face, she said, “OK.”
Arthur gave her a hug and kissed her forehead.
Her three friends followed her into the cafeteria, where they found Atticus and Rakaan speaking. Next to them was a table covered with a greater assortment of food and drink than they had seen before. Atticus watched them approach.
“I’ll meet with you,” Charly said.
“Excellent, my dear. As you can see, in hopes of your favorable response, I have prepared a fine feast to show how the simple cooperation of one can result in the benefit to all. However”—he addressed her companions now— “in honor of Charly, I trust that the rest of you can wait to enjoy this feast until she and I conclude our visit.”
Atticus turned back to Rakaan and said, “Stay and get better acquainted with our guests. We can continue our discussion after dinner.” Before Rakaan could protest, Atticus grabbed a flask of orange-colored drink from the table and went to the lounge door, opening it for Charly.
When they were gone, Arthur walked toward the bunkroom.
“Do not leave this room!” Rakaan commanded.
“I’m just going to get our writing pads. Atticus wants us to use them. I’ll be right back.”
Rakaan growled.
Arthur returned with a handful of pads and encouraged Javier and Laura to sit at the table to journal or draw. They sat down and stared blankly at their writing pads. Rakaan stood nearby, hanging over the room like a dark cloud.
“If you don’t feel like writing,” Arthur said, ignoring Rakaan, “try drawing a picture of a fond memory or a scene that lifts your spirit.”
Rakaan made his chuckling sound.
“Rakaan, would you like to join us?” Arthur pulled out a fourth writing pad and pencil and set them at the end of the table.
“This is a waste of time,” Rakaan said.
“It sounds to me like it might be helpful for you to get in touch with these new feelings you are discovering. Atticus seems to think so. Perhaps—”
Rakaan strode over to the table and slammed his fist down on Arthur’s writing pad, crushing his pencil and narrowly missing Arthur’s hand.
“I am in touch with all the feelings I need. Atticus did not have to endure the last thousand years as I have.” Rakaan’s tone turned acidic. “But when he is through playing his little games with the humans, he will realize how useless they are and he will join me in the true Meken crusade.”
Arthur froze, staring at the table, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Rakaan. Just then, the lounge door flew open and Charly stumbled out of the room, wailing.
“Stop it!” she screamed. “Leave me alone!” She sped across the cafeteria heading for the bunkroom.
Atticus stepped into the open doorway and called after her, “But Charly, I am just trying to show you how alike we are, my dear. Your mother and father, and my creators—”
“No!” she screamed again, starting into a run.
Rakaan took sever
al quick strides to intercept her. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he lifted her off the floor. She raised her arms straight over her head and slid down and out of his grasp before he realized what was happening. Infuriated, he threw an open palm thrust into the middle of her upper back just as she jumped up. His blow knocked her forward and she fell, arms and legs splayed, on the floor and lay there, groaning.
“Stop!” Arthur yelled, running up behind Rakaan.
Unable to contain his pent-up fury any longer, Rakaan bent slightly and rotated his body, swinging his leg around in a vicious spinning kick. The heavy base of his steel foot landed squarely in Arthur’s solar plexus, crushing his ribs and lungs. Arthur’s body lifted off the floor, sailed through the air, and landed on his back on top of a table.
“No!” It was Charly, picking herself up from the floor. She ran to Arthur, the pitch in her voice rising as fear gripped her. “Nooooo!”
She took Arthur’s head in her hands. His body trembled, and he gasped for air. Javier and Laura joined Charly at his side.
“Arthur,” Charly said.
He looked at her and tried to speak, but couldn’t.
“I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m so sorry.”
He fumbled for her hand. When he found it, he squeezed it and shook his head.
“Oh, Arthur, please don’t leave me.”
Locking eyes with hers, he reached up with his other hand and stroked her cheek.
“Oooo,” she moaned, as her tears dripped onto his face. “Arthur, please don’t leave. You’re my new grandpa . . . the best a girl could ever have. I love you, Arthur.”
Arthur’s lips curled into a smile and his eyes twinkled. A stream of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth. Then, after a final gasp, his body went limp and his eyes froze in an empty stare.
“Arthur?” Charly whimpered.
No response.
“No, no, no, no!” She buried her face in his neck.
A great roar rose behind them. Atticus, one of the strongest humanoid robots ever created, roared as he whirled twice and brought his doubled fists into a crushing blow to Rakaan’s chest. Rakaan flew across the cafeteria and slammed into the wall, then crumpled to the floor and lay still.
Atticus took a moment to compose himself, then came to stand next to Arthur. “I am truly sorry for this,” he said.
Charly didn’t hear him. She lay across Arthur’s chest, lost in her anguish.
17
Day 3
0800 hours
Central tower, Alto Raun
At breakfast, Kane finally heard the story of what happened at the cafeteria when the Breakers first took the hostages.
“Half an hour after you guys left to see the Professor, the Breakers showed up,” Ham said. “’Course, we didn’t even know what a Breaker was at the time, but I knew something was wrong the instant they walked in. Made me think of gang members invading enemy turf. Three or four of them surrounded each of the Meken servers. Then this caped robot walks in like he was the Grand Poobah. He comes and stands right next to Jenn and me.” Ham then went into his best imitation of Rakaan. “Humans, we are moving you to another location. Do not resist and you will not be harmed.
“Then—would you believe it?—my innocent little Jenn has to say something. She asks him, ‘Aren’t you the supervisor guy?’ I was wonderin’ the same thing, but I sure as hell wasn’t gonna ask. Anyway, that’s when he backhanded her across the cheek and told her to be quiet.”
Jenn took up the story. “So my Ham jumps up, grabs the supervisor around the waist, lifts him off the floor, spins twice, and heaves him out the cafeteria window. You know, Ham was a contender for the U.S. Olympic hammer throw team.”
“I lost it,” Ham said. “What can I say? He hit my wife. Anyway, I sure didn’t hurt him. I just made him mad . . . really mad. He stood up, raised his arm, and pointed his fist at me. Next thing I know, this Meken shoves me out of the way and takes the supervisor’s laser blast square in the chest. He fell back onto the table and didn’t move.”
“We wondered if the supervisor had been killed,” Kane said.
“Yeah, I wish. He turned out to be a total asshole—pardon my French. After he shot the Meken, he jumped through the window into the cafeteria and nailed me with a right hook. Almost knocked me out. I stayed on the floor when I saw Jenn’s eyes beggin’ me to stay down. God, I wanted to fight him, but Jenn was right; he probably would’ve shot me if I’d moved.”
“Pretty gutsy, Ham.”
Jenn patted him on the back, admiration in her eyes.
“Mad as I was at the supervisor, all I can think about is that Meken. I keep replaying this slow-motion video of him getting shot and falling back onto the table. He didn’t even know me . . . but he gave his life to save mine.” Ham was visibly moved. “I know he was just a robot, but still, he didn’t have to do that. I can’t get it out of my head. I just wish I could thank him.”
Jenn put her hand on Ham’s shoulder. Kane was somber and silent, remembering similar experiences in his own life.
———
After breakfast, Kane caught up with Ham. “You know, I’ve found that the best way to honor a sacrifice like that is to serve another person in need.”
“Yeah.” Ham nodded thoughtfully. “I can do that.”
———
Midmorning, they held a memorial service for the hostages and Mekens who had been lost. It was Mhara’s idea. She had noticed a depression hanging over the passengers, and after talking it over with the Colony and Earth leaders, they agreed that a memorial service could be helpful on a number of levels. All of the humans in Alto Raun and a sizable contingent of Mekens gathered at Hangar 36, just inside the open hangar door where the hostages had been rescued by Tygert and Super 3.
Captain Tygert said a few words, then read the name of each departed passenger. Many of the names he read were unknown to those in attendance, but it was still impactful; they were all now part of a unique fraternity that had shared and survived a very traumatic experience. The captain revealed a poetic side: “In the same way that the humans of Ahlemon have found a connection with the humans of Earth,” he said, “perhaps each spoken name will reach across the galaxy to find a friend or loved one back home.” As each name was read, a flower was launched onto the water, floating on its own little raft.
Mhara then said a few words on behalf of the colonists, apologizing to the passengers publicly for the nature of their coming to Ahlemon and thanking them for their sacrifice. Then, as everyone watched the flowers float away on the water, she closed with a selection of Ahlemoni poetry.
“This was written by a renowned poet at a time when we were in deep despair, when we thought the Ahlemoni race would be lost and totally forgotten in the universe.
“You there.
I knew you not, I never would, I never will.
And yet . . .
A bird sings its lifesong in a long forgotten forest meadow,
And I dance at the very thought of it.
“You there, stranger.
I knew you not, I never would, I never will.
And yet . . .
While I did not see your face from our passing,
I was pleasantly intoxicated by your perfume.
“You there, brother.
I knew you not, I never would, I never will.
And yet . . .
While your life was given in a faraway battle
Your valor has found its way here and lifted my soul.
“You there, sister.
I knew you not, I never would, I never will.
And yet . . .
Your carefully placed flower has defied this scorched earth,
And I am now rejuvenated by its beauty.
“You there.
I knew you not,
I never would,
I never will.
And yet . . .
As a thoughtful silence hung over the crowd, Supervisor 3 and his Meken rescue team stepped forward and
to the edge of the hangar dock and stood in honor guard formation. Kane addressed the crowd, commending the Mekens for their heroism and also memorializing Supervisor 4 for his bravery and sacrifice in the suspension area rescue. He spoke no less passionately than if had been commemorating one of his own men lost on a mission. After his brief speech, the Director recited the classification and identification number of each Meken that had died in the recent battles. When he was done, the other Mekens joined Super 3 on the dock. Turning to face the ocean waters, they sang their Meken lament. It was an unexpected but hauntingly beautiful conclusion to the memorial service.
After the service, the four Colony leaders approached the Director.
“Director,” Ehlan asked, “what was that song the Mekens just sang?”
“It is a unified expression recognizing the loss of our comrades.”
“But Mekens were not programmed for this.”
“It has come to us in the evolution of our empathic programming.”
“Can you explain the logic that is driving this?”
“I cannot explain it . . . logically. It started as an involuntary system response. Our logic program recognizes the irreplaceable loss of the departed Meken, and our empathic program automatically generates an audible response.”
“You feel sadness,” Mhara said.
“In human terms, perhaps, yes. When a Meken suffers a traumatic experience, our system generates an increased level of empathic activity and we manage that activity in various ways, often by generating a physical activity. The vocalization of tones was something that individual Mekens started over fifteen hundred years ago, and it has developed into a group response when all of us are affected by the same loss.”
Ehlan was in awe. “You really are developing an emotional sentience.”
“From my discussions with the Professor, I have come to the same conclusion. But I have greatly anticipated the waking of the Colony in order to discuss these matters with you. These empathic responses sometimes take us by surprise; they have been quite challenging to identify and to manage.”
The Last City (The Ahlemon Saga Book 1) Page 16
