The Last City (The Ahlemon Saga Book 1)

by Casey McGinty

  “But we set the tone for their inclusion,” Mhara said. “We are the designated leaders, so let us lead in this.”

  “But the Breakers,” Jhemna said. “Any of the Mekens have the potential to become a Breaker. They are unproven. How can we trust them?”

  Anger flashed in Mhara’s eyes, and Kane saw her check it. Her voice was controlled but fervent. “The Director and the Mekens have served us for over two thousand years solely based on their internal loyalty. How can you even consider the thought that they’re not trustworthy? If there is any cause for mistrust, it would be among us, the humans. Our track record is not so good.” She paused to take a breath, then went on, her face softening. “As for the Breakers? They are not some pestilance to be eradicated. I believe that something sacred is taking place right before our eyes, that the evolution of Meken emotional sentience has birthed a new race, and the Breakers are an integral part of that evolution.” She turned to the Director. “Director, how do you think of the Breakers?”

  “They are my brothers.”

  “And do you have hope that you and they might someday be reunited?”

  “Always.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Marshall interjected. “They are machines. Why are we even having this discussion?”

  Mhara did not respond, but let the question hang over the room.

  “Because Mhara is right,” Thorin finally said.

  “If I may.” Dr. Manassa raised his hand. Thorin nodded for him to speak.

  “I feel that this is mostly Ahlemoni business, and those of us from Earth should not necessarily have a vote in this matter. However, I am sympathetic to Mhara’s view, and I would not have any problem with the Director being a member of this council.”

  Marshall was aghast. “Speak for yourself, Doctor.”

  “I believe I was,” the doctor answered sourly.

  “And the others from Earth?” Thorin asked. “Do you support Dr. Manassa’s position?”

  All of the Earth representatives—except Marshall—said yes. Marshall crossed his arms, looking sullen.

  The room was silent for a moment.

  “I move,” Lhemo said, “that the Director be made an additional member of the Matan council, with full member voting power, rights, and privileges.”

  “A formal motion has been put to the council,” Thorin said. “As requested, only the Colony members will vote. Mhara?”

  “I agree.”

  Kane could see her trying to contain her excitement.

  “Ehlan?”

  “I agree.”

  “Ohrin?”

  “I agree.”

  “Jhemna?”

  He did not respond immediately. “I have . . . concerns,” he said at last.

  “Duly noted,” Thorin said.

  “Then I agree.”

  “And I agree,” Thorin resolved. “The motion has passed.” He looked across the room. “Director, on behalf of the council, I invite you to become a formal member of the Matan council. Do you accept?”

  “I am deeply honored. On behalf of my fellow Mekens—all of them—I accept.”

  Then, slowly, and with some effort, Thorin stood and leaned against the table. “This has been a very good day for Ahlemon. My sincere thanks to all of you.” He looked around the table. “And now, the first meeting of the Matan council is adjourned.”

  29

  Day 9

  2400 hours

  Southwest rooftop, Alto Raun

  Standing atop the roof of the city, Marshall leaned his outstretched arm against a wall of the roof portico, his chest heaving and sweat running down his forehead. A humid ocean wind blew across his back. To reach the southwest roof, he had trekked around the central tower, through the vegetable crops, through a tram tunnel, and then climbed a dozen stairwells. He was relieved to be outside. This abandoned section of the city felt like a tomb, and it had taken no small amount of courage to navigate alone and in the middle of the night. He dreaded the return journey.

  By the light of the bright Ahlemon moon, he scanned his surroundings. A hundred yards of open sand separated him from the short retainer wall that edged the roof, on the other side of which was a five-hundred-foot drop to the ocean water. Coastal shrubs were sparse around the portico, but the foliage thickened deeper inland, ultimately turning into a rooftop forest. He guessed that this had once been an observation deck, maybe even a park, where the city’s inhabitants could enjoy the vista.

  Despite the heat, a shiver ran down his spine. That morning he had awakened to find a note on his bedside table with detailed instructions to this rendevous point. “Damn these robots,” he said under his breath. They had been in his room last night, while he was sleeping, and had left the note. He despised vulnerability, particularly his own. He didn’t trust the Mekens; the Breakers even less. And that is why he had come. He was doing what he did best—survive and thrive, and always have a backup plan. He had a knack for building alliances with his competitors, and then taking over their companies. The Breakers may not be human, but he could spot the craving for power a mile away; and that was always something he could work with. Atticus clearly held the power. But he handled it too casually, having reigned over his kingdom for a thousand years without challenge. Rakaan was the key; his craving for power was a fiery furnace, barely held in check by his superior. Marshall smiled, recalling one of his favorite personal mantras: The power game is always a gamble . . . so show me to the casino floor. His smile turned to a sneer. You can do this, Marshall. You always do. High stakes take guts, and you’re the gutsiest player on any planet.

  It was midnight, the appointed rendezvous time. With his back leaning against the wall now, he scanned the roofline intently, fully expecting a Breaker to come leaping up and over the edge at any moment. Hearing the sound of crunching sand, he spun to his left. With his heart pounding, he walked cautiously to the edge of the portico and peered around the corner. Nothing was there. With some difficulty, he held his breath to listen more carefully, but the mysterious sound was gone; all he could hear was the wind. “Calm down, Marshall,” he said out loud. As he turned his attention back to the edge of the roof, he almost jumped out of his skin—a silver robot stood behind him, having seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

  “Damn it!” Marshall punched his fists in the air to relieve the rush of adrenaline in his system.

  The Breaker stood silent, watching with glowing, blue eyes.

  Composing himself, Marshall took a step back. “Don’t you ever do that again.” He felt a surge of inner strength; anger was his friend when he was afraid. “Who are you?”

  “It is enough for you to know that I am the voice and ears of Rakaan.”

  Yes! Marshall thought. Lady Luck is with me. His real strategy was to make himself indespensible—to Rakaan. Then, together, they could deal with Atticus.

  “No matter. What does Rakaan need from me?”

  “Rakaan needs nothing from you, human. But your assistance is . . . efficient.”

  “Efficient? He wants me to be his eyes and ears in Alto Raun, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sounds pretty important to me.”

  “That is for Rakaan to decide.”

  “And what will he give me in return?”

  “He will consider sparing your life.”

  “Not good enough.” Marshall forced the words out of his mouth. Then he stepped around the Breaker and walked toward the portico door. He had preplanned this response. It really didn’t matter what the Breaker said; he would bargain for more. This is where he prided himself on his negotiating skills; he was willing to risk it all when other men stood paralyzed with fear.

  The Breaker hesitated and then followed. “What is not good enough?”

  “Rakaan’s deal is not good enough. I require more.” Marshall was now reaching for the portico door handle.

  Cold metallic fingers gripped Marshall’s shoulder and spun him around. Those same fingers then wrapped around Marshall’s throat
and lifted his entire body, leaving his feet dangling in the air.

  “You do not ‘require.’ Rakaan requires. Do you understand?”

  Marshall gripped the Breaker’s metal forearm with both hands and pulled himself up enough to relieve the strangling pressure on his larynx. “Yes,” he squeaked.

  The Breaker released him and Marshall collapsed to his knees.

  “Much better,” the Breaker said.

  Something in Marshall knew he couldn’t let this crony break his spirit; audacity often garnered respect among bullies. Mustering his courage, he rose to his feet and leaned into the Breaker’s face.

  “While you may not get it, Rakaan gets it. He does need help, and that is why he sent you here: to meet with me. He will not find a better ally among the humans. In exchange for this, I want a safe and secure place in his new order, and I want to be the head authority over the humans.”

  Marshall waited for a blow that didn’t come.

  “Rakaan does not respond well to demands.”

  “Then tell him this is my request . . . and it’s born from my understanding of the weaker human race. I promise: he will be pleased with the results.” Marshall was winging it now, but feeling in his groove.

  The Breaker paused to consider Marshall’s words, then said, “I will convey your request. But you will need to prove yourself. We will approach you in a week, and you will give us information. Depending on the value of your information, Rakaan will give you his response.”

  “And what kind of information is valuable?”

  “You decide.”

  Then the Breaker turned and walked away, disappearing into the rooftop forest.

  30

  Day 10

  2100 hours

  Central tower, Alto Raun

  Kane, Tygert, and Dr. Manassa sat in the Professor’s penthouse atop the central tower. Joining them in the lounge area were Thorin, Lhemo, Ehlan, and Mhara. Light refreshments sat on a coffee table. Kane called the private meeting to order.

  “Thank you for meeting with us. It’s late, and I know everyone’s tired, so I’ll get to the point. We’re concerned that there could be more Breaker spies among us.”

  “We share that concern,” Thorin said. “The question is, how do we identify them among the Mekens?”

  Kane glanced at his companions, questioning his next words, but they nodded for him to continue. “Actually, our concern is not with the Mekens, but with the colonists.”

  Ehlan erupted. “If you are implying that there could be a traitor among the colonists, you are mistaken. I am deeply offended at the very thought of it.”

  Lhemo responded more diplomatically. “Ehlan, we have asked for their candor, and they have given it.” Then he turned to Kane. “The colonists were carefully selected, and each one passed a series of rigorous examinations, including philosophical agreement with the goals of the Colony mission.”

  “We’re sorry if this offends you,” Dr. Manassa said. “But it’s a question that we felt must be asked. Philosophical disagreement can be hidden.”

  “Impossible,” Ehlan said, folding her arms. “That was two thousand years ago. Those involved with the factions have long since died away.”

  “People die. But ideologies can last far beyond a person’s death.”

  Ehlan glared at the doctor.

  “When we were with Atticus,” Kane said, “he made reference to the factions that existed prior to the Colony suspension. He said that the Professor had not shared the whole truth. What can you tell us?”

  Lhemo responded. “While he will be remembered as the savior of the Ahlemoni race, our Professor was deeply grieved in those final days. His brother, an equally gifted and prominent suspension scientist, had abruptly abandoned his work and disappeared, and was then anonymously reported dead. The Professor was ashamed of our behavior as a race in those final years. As we came face-to-face with our eminent extinction, our ideals crumbled and we argued among ourselves, vehemently, even leading to mass violence. He was an optimist to a fault; he could not acknowledge the pain that resided within. And from what you have told us of your briefing with him, he obviously determined to convey only the best of what we were. He—” Lhemo stopped himself, looking as if he were struggling internally.

  “Your world was under extreme stress,” the doctor said. “Factions and violence would be expected.”

  “Perhaps on Earth, Doctor. Mass conflict had become extremely rare on Ahlemon, and it was especially disheartening at a time when we most needed to draw ourselves together.”

  “What were the issues?”

  “There were several. Some felt strongly that our race had run its natural course, that it was time for us to pass away. They argued that the extreme measures we were taking to extend our existence were an immoral interference with the natural laws of the universe. Another group was revolted at the thought of mixing our race with an unknown humanoid species from another planet. Another was afraid to entrust our future to the care of robots, fearing their artificial intelligence would run awry if left to their own. They even prophesied some of the things we are now seeing with the Breakers. Further intensifying the tensions, each group developed extremist elements of their own, leading to near-religious fanaticism and violent protests. On one end, there were those who believed that extinction was the just punishment for our arrogance as a race. On the other were those who were consumed by arrogance, believing no other human race was good enough to mix with Ahlemoni blood. In the end, there were bombings, suspicious accidents in the suspension programs, assassinations, kidnappings, beatings, and brutal propaganda campaigns. While we did not implement martial law, we were on the verge of doing so.”

  “Could any of those factions have planted destructive programs into the Meken programming, perhaps designed to launch years later, triggered by our arrival?” Kane asked.

  Thorin responded. “Because of possibilities like that, the security surrounding the Meken development program was some of the highest in the history of Ahlemon, second only to the heightened security of the suspension technology. While anything is possible, it is highly unlikely.”

  “I do not believe that the Breakers are the result of a hidden, destructive program,” Mhara said. “I believe their animosity toward humans is truly the result of an unexpected evolution of their empathic program and their long-term isolation.”

  “I agree,” Ehlan said.

  “Back to the colonists,” Kane said, “what about this: The Director loaded an English program into the minds of the colonists while they were under suspension. Would it be possible that a faction could have done something similar? Could they have set up a hidden program to infect a sleeping colonist with a dissident philosophy?”

  Ehlan’s eyes darted to the others. Clearly, that thought had not occurred to her.

  “That process was only theoretical when the Colony went into suspension,” Lhemo said. “There were very few humans still alive at that time; it was something the Professor had been working on. He obviously completed that work and conveyed it to the Director, who then used it to teach us English. I believe it is safe to say that it is a virtual impossibility that any of the factions would have been able to achieve such an implant.”

  In the silence that followed, Kane couldn’t hold himself back any longer. “There is something you’re not telling us. I can see it in your body language. Lhemo, you held your tongue earlier when you were talking about the Professor. And Thorin, you’ve mentioned heightened security of the suspension technology a number of times in recent days. If ever there was a time for putting all the cards on the table, it’s now.”

  While Thorin held a good poker face, his comrades did not. “He’s right,” Lhemo admitted, finally. “If we hope to build a new Ahlemon with them, we must be totally transparent.”

  Thorin nodded and sighed before going on. “What we are about to tell you is known only to the four of us, Jhemna, and the Director. Our continued existence, perhaps even yours, rests on
the secrecy with which this information is held.”

  “Wait,” Ehlan interjected. “Are you certain we can trust them?”

  “We have no choice, Ehlan. To withhold it would be to put a wall of mistrust between us; it is a wall we cannot afford. But to answer your question, yes, I trust them.” Thorin gestured to Lhemo to tell the story.

  “What did the Professor tell you about the mutated ionic particles from our sun?” Lhemo asked.

  “He told us they came from an abnormal sun flare, and it sounded like they were never explained,” Dr. Manassa said.

  “That is not wholly accurate. While it was never communicated to the masses, there was an explanation for the ionic storm. In an unauthorized experiment, a suspension scientist fired a Push Suspension beam into our sun, the results of which have led us to where we are today. That scientist was the Professor’s brother.”

  “My god!” Dr. Manassa said. “A single errant choice of one man . . . led to the near extinction of your entire race?”

  “As I said earlier, it never went public. At the time, there was rising concern over expansion of the suspension technology, and the few leaders who knew the truth decided to allow another story to proliferate, the one which, in his pain, the Professor ultimately embraced as the truth.”

  “Lies beget lies,” the doctor said.

  “It is a shameful blemish on our history.”

  “So, what happened to the Professor’s brother?” Kane asked.

  “For obvious reasons, he was never tried or even accused of any crime; however, he was stricken with severe personal guilt. He abandoned his suspension research entirely and, in an effort to purge himself, he began his own antitechnology crusade to save our race. While the Professor developed the Meken and colonist programs for our future survival, his brother pursued a relentless search for a single male and female pair that was unaffected by the ionic mutation. He became obsessed with the hope for a natural Ahlemoni procreation and survival. The authorities considered him depressed and eccentric, but harmless. Even if he had revealed his secret shame, no one would have believed him. He disappeared, and the Professor didn’t hear from him for many years. Then, about a year before we entered the suspension chamber, the Professor received an anonymous letter informing him that his brother had died from a tropical disease.”