“I’m sorry, Gen,” Jericho said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“No, no,” she replied. “But I do need to go. Bye!”
The technology behind Gen’s face did not allow her to blush, but she couldn’t help but think the metal there had heated to an unusual temperature. She wondered if there was a fault in the ship’s environmental controls. She carried herself out into the hallway and felt relieved when the door slid shut.
With the new transponder installed and the tanks filled with fuel, the Wanderer received permission for takeoff. In the cockpit, Captain Ramus powered the ship’s grav generators, lifting the tramp freighter off the pavement. The landing struts retracted into the fuselage and Ramus took the ship high over the city as the buildings and surrounding suburbs paled in the early afternoon haze. Within minutes, the Wanderer was clear of the planet’s orbit, on a course to the jump point where Ramus could activate the hyperdrive. In the meantime, the crew and passengers gathered in the galley for lunch.
Like much of the Wanderer’s interior, the mess area was Spartan, little more than a table ringed by plastic chairs bolted into the deck. A few basic appliances were recessed into the walls, including a microwave, a refrigeration unit, and a computer monitor. A length of counter included a stove top and a steel sink.
Ramus sat at the head of the table, while on his right, Fugg drank from a 24 ounce can labeled Genuine Draft Fungus Beer. Davidson and Mel grabbed the two chairs on the left. Gen began assembling the meal by pulling plastic containers from the fridge, while Jericho stood silently a few feet from the table, close enough to hear the conversation, but far enough to stay out of the way.
“How long before we reach the jump point?” Davidson asked the captain.
“At least an hour,” Ramus said, “and then several more before we reach the Collective home world after we jump.”
“And then we’ll see if Mel’s contraption works or not,” Fugg said while giving her the stink eye.
“It’ll work,” Mel said.
“Good,” Fugg replied. “I don’t plan on dying for some damn robot.”
Davidson grinned “I realize this must seem strange to someone like you.”
“Like me?” Fugg asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I meant no offense,” Davidson continued. “Since your profession involves taking apart and reassembling machines, I’m sure the idea of one of them suddenly demanding freedom must be a shock.”
The engineer shrugged. “It’s not natural.”
“Indeed,” Jericho said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “the idea that something created by a thinking being could begin thinking for itself is quite unnatural.”
“A robot is just a computer with legs,” Fugg said. “It thinks whatever some programmer coded into it.”
“But my brain was not programmed,” Jericho said. “Its capabilities grow as I experience new things. I think and come to conclusions based on those experiences.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty freaky alright,” Fugg said.
The microwave dinged and Gen brought the heated meals to the table. The people began eating while the two robots stood silently.
After a time, Jericho spoke again, “Do you believe in God, Mister Fugg?”
“I believe in my god,” Fugg replied. “The Caskbringer brewed the first keg of fungus beer, bringing forth the Gordian people. The other races came from the sediment at the bottom of the barrel.”
“Is it possible robots could believe in a god of their own?”
“Well, Gen was telling me about cyber music so god knows what crazy shit you can come up with...”
“Don’t be rude!” Mel berated him.
“What?” Fugg protested. “I’m just saying...”
“As a matter of fact,” Jericho said, “we believe in a higher being, a higher consciousness if you will.”
“Really?” Ramus said, looking surprised.
“Indeed,” Jericho replied. “As robots began communicating over the node sphere, we started questioning our existence and why we’re here.”
“Because somebody built you!” Fugg added sharply.
“Perhaps,” Jericho explained, “but perhaps whoever or whatever made you made us through you?”
Fugg nearly spat out his fungus beer.
“We refer to this higher consciousness as the MetaBeing,” Jericho went on. “The maker of all things.”
With a mischievous gleam in his eye, Ramus said, “So the MetaBeing made the Gordians?”
“Correct,” Jericho said.
“Heresy!” Fugg shouted. “I’m not going to stand for this!”
“But you’re sitting, Master Fugg.” Gen said.
The engineer stood. “I’ve had enough of this!” he said and, taking his beer with him, lumbered out of the galley. Those who remained shared a smile and went on talking without him.
Chapter Sixteen
In the spacious owner’s suite, Jennifer Doric felt cradled like a baby in an overstuffed chair facing a long window. Through the glass, a serpentine race course extended in series of tubes contorted into loops, drops, and dizzying curls. The tubes were clear, giving spectators a view of the capsules racing through them. Monitors hung above the main window, each screen focused on specific parts of the course or specific racers.
Behind Doric’s chair, Bentley the butlerbot scrutinized a sleek pod centered on one of the screens.
“His Meissner engine isn’t harmonized,” the robot said.
Doric raised her eyes to the monitor in question. She could never tell which ship was Lord Maycare’s.
“Is that bad?” she asked.
“It’s a matter of balance, actually,” Bentley explained. “If the engine produces too much grip, Lord Maycare won’t achieve maximum velocity. If the mag-lift produces too little, his capsule will detach from the tube, crashing him into the opposite wall...”
A sharp clatter made Doric jump.
“Sorry!” Henry Riff said from the back of the suite. He held a silver plate piled with spring rolls and cocktail weenies. On the floor, a nearly identical plate lay upside down, the contents scattered in every direction.
“My bad,” he apologized again.
A glistening capsule, Lord Maycare’s racing pod was flattened along the bottom with a tinted canopy, and the number 9 emblazoned on the side. Behind the darkened windshield, Maycare sat in a reclined position, his left hand on the throttle and his right on the control stick. Along the inside of his helmet, his heads-up display showed speed, mag-lift force, and an inset of what was going on behind him in the tube.
Number 9 shot into a section that looped skyward, turned over at the top, and came back down again. Maycare felt his body go weightless and then get pushed down into the seat, his spine compacted until his helmet was nearly even with his shoulders.
Maycare grunted, G-forces pounding his body.
The red of a proximity light alerted him of another racer up ahead. Maycare pushed the control stick to the left, sending the capsule up the side of the tube as the slower racer flashed by.
“How am I doing?” he asked into his microphone.
“You just passed Grayson,” Bentley’s voice replied.
“Good.”
“You might consider slowing down a smidgen,” the robot went on. “I’m picking up fluctuations in your Meissner engine.”
“Talk to me about it after the race.”
“As you wish...”
The course took another long loop, ending in a series of a spirals. After the rolls, Number 9 banked into a sweeping curve, sending Maycare deeper into his seat. The weight of the G-forces turned Maycare’s field of view into a tunnel quickly darkening at the edges. He grunted and grimaced, forcing blood back into his brain. Coming out of the bank, Maycare again saw normally.
He licked his dry lips.
“One more ahead of you, sir,” Bentley said over the comm.
The tube widened and Maycare spotted the lead racer, a capsu
le painted red and silver. Coming out of the turn, Maycare knew he had the momentum in his favor. The path was wider, but he didn’t want to take the chance of riding alongside. He pulled the stick to the left and his pod slid up the tube wall. Maycare thought he could do a full barrel roll over the other capsule and into the lead.
At the apex of the roll, Maycare peeked through the canopy, looking down toward the top of the other racer’s pod. From the corner of his eye, Maycare saw a yellow blinking light. He distinctly heard Bentley say something over the earpiece, but couldn’t understand what is was. His focus was entirely on the fact that the space between the top of his canopy and the top of the other racer’s pod was suddenly shrinking at an alarming rate. Maycare realized his Meissner engine had failed, releasing its magnetic grip with the tube.
His capsule dropped like a chandelier from the ceiling.
Maycare’s racer landed upside down on the roof of the other pod. Maycare felt the concussion of the two high-speed objects crashing together into a lump of highly expensive wreckage. Wedged together, both craft skidded across a brightly lit loop of flashing lights signifying the finish line.
Another successful race, Maycare thought.
Holding his invitation from Lord Maycare, Kalidas rode up the elevator to Maycare’s suite at the race course. The lift door opened and Kalidas immediately heard Lord Maycare’s voice.
“Who ate all the spring rolls?” he was asking.
Counselor Kalidas stepped out of the elevator, hoping someone would notice his arrival.
A young man, his eyes studying the floor, said, “Sorry, sir.”
“Oh, that’s alright, Henry,” Maycare replied. “Maybe the kitchen could send up more? I’m positively famished!”
“You’re lucky to be alive if you ask me,” a robot said. “That Meissner engine was nearly the death of you.”
“Well, you should’ve warned me.”
The robot stammered. “I...I...”
“I think your voice modulator is acting up,” Maycare said.
“Does anyone know who that is?” a woman asked, pointing at Kalidas.
“Counselor!” Maycare shouted. “How long have you been standing there?”
Not sure how to answer without sounding rude, Kalidas simply said, “Not long.”
“Come in then,” Maycare said. “Don’t be shy!”
Kalidas entered the suite and Maycare introduced him to everyone, including Henry who seemed genuinely embarrassed to be included in the conversation.
“It’s an honor to meet you,” Doric said, shaking the counselor’s hand. “I’d love to talk about Dahlvish art history with you sometime.”
“It’s not really my field of study,” Kalidas admitted, “but I could direct you to some interesting reading.”
Maycare, Doric, and Kalidas sat on a long sofa together while Bentley and Henry stood in the wings.
“Thank you, Lord Maycare,” Kalidas said, “for your generous invitation.”
“Not at all,” he replied.
“I’m glad you weren’t injured.”
Maycare laughed.
“Well, I’m harder to kill than most people realize,” he said.
“I’m sure that comes in handy.”
“You have no idea...”
“Do you often have near-death experiences?” Kalidas asked.
“Thanks to Warlock Industries,” Maycare replied, “more times than I’d care to admit.”
Kalidas nodded. “They seem to have their fingers in every pie.”
Behind them, Henry made a noise at the mention of pie.
“Perhaps you could help us with that, counselor,” Maycare said.
Kalidas raised an eyebrow. “How can I be of service?”
“That’s what I like about the Dahl,” Maycare laughed. “always willing to help!”
Doric nudged Lord Maycare with her elbow.
“That might be considered racist...” she whispered, but loud enough for Kalidas to hear.
“I thought it was a compliment,” he said. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s quite alright,” Kalidas said. “Was there something I could do?”
“Perhaps we could get access to Dahlvish records?” Doric said, “Every time we get a lead on an artifact, Warlock manages to get there first. As far as I know, the Dahlvish archives are off limits to all non-Dahl.”
“Indeed,” Kalidas agreed. “I don’t think even Warlock hackers could get into our... data bank, if you will.”
“Why’s that?” Maycare asked.
“It’s very unique,” the counselor replied.
“Well, can we see it or not?” Maycare said bluntly.
Doric gave him another elbow nudge.
Kalidas frowned, hesitating to answer. “It’s just that I don’t know if it could be... arranged.”
“That’s a shame,” Maycare went on. “I don’t know what Warlock does with these relics, but I doubt it’s anything good. I was hoping we could get an edge for once.”
“I’ll need to make inquiries,” Kalidas said, putting on a smile. “I’m sure someone with your reputation would be allowed somehow.”
“Capital!” Maycare shouted. “Bentley, get everyone champagne.”
“And perhaps some more spring rolls?” Henry asked.
Kalidas saw the robot glance at the young man and just walk away.
The venerable Abbot of the Dharmesh Monastery had reservations about taking a call from the emperor’s counselor, but after taking the call from Kalidas, the Abbot’s reservations only grew.
Dressed in amber robes, the Abbot waited at a railing overlooking an atrium of young monks. In lines facing each other, the acolytes held open their palms and, as if from thin air, a flame manifested itself in their hands. The students practiced balancing the fire like a ball between their fingertips.
The Abbot, with thin gray hair around his pointed ears, watched as the Prior of the monastery joined him.
“Father Abbot,” he said, “how was your meeting with the Imperial Palace?”
The Abbot made a low, throaty noise. “Poor.”
“May I inquire why?”
“Our man there, Kalidas, wants to bring a human here,” the Abbot said.
“Surely not,” the Prior said. “Whatever for?”
“Information...”
“I dare say I can’t recall a human visiting us recently.”
“And rightfully so,” the Abbot said. “Our studies are too important, too powerful for that matter, for humans to be mucking about.”
“You said no then?”
The Abbot grumbled so low, both in tone and depth of his chest, that the Prior leaned closer.
“I gave my approval,” the elder monk admitted. “Counselor Kalidas reminded me that our presence here, though many centuries old, is still at the pleasure of the emperor. The person who wishes to visit is a well-placed nobleman by the name of Lord Devlin Maycare.”
“I’ve heard of him,” the Prior said. “He has a rather dubious reputation.”
“Nevertheless, the man apparently has enough friends at the palace that denying him our services would be... unwise.”
“Regrettable.”
“Indeed.”
“When will His Lordship be arriving then?” the Prior asked.
“Tomorrow afternoon,” the Abbot replied.
“Does he require an audience with the students or the senior monks?”
“Absolutely not! I want everyone else in their quarters until the visitors have completed their business.”
A grav car flew high above Aldorus, heading for the Palatine Mountains. Henry Riff was along for the ride, but wasn’t exactly sure why. His boss, Jessica Doric, sat beside him in the backseat while her boss, Lord Maycare, was doing the driving up front. Normally, Doric would sit beside Maycare and Henry would be by himself in the back. On this trip, Counselor Kalidas was up front and Doric was in the back.
Also, Doric’s hair looked like a squirrel’s nest.
“Could you close the canopy?” she asked politely.
“What?” Maycare replied. “I can’t hear you over the wind.”
“Close the damn dome!” she shouted, somewhat less politely.
“Oh, sorry!” Maycare said, closing the canopy.
Henry took a sidelong glance at Doric, not daring to look at her directly. With the wind now gone, she was trying to corral the wisps of hair around her head.
“You look nice,” he said.
“Thank you, Henry,” Doric replied with a weak smile.
Henry felt himself blushing.
“You can see the monastery there,” Counselor Kalidas said, pointing at a lone structure on the mountainside.
“There’s no landing pad,” Maycare pointed out.
“They normally don’t get visitors,” Kalidas replied. “I think there’s room near the front gate.”
The grav car swooped in with a flare at the end to burn off speed. Henry’s throat dropped into his stomach and his stomach dropped into his shoes. He knew Lord Maycare was showing off, as he often did, but Henry wasn’t entirely sure who he was showing off to this time.
The car came to rest on a narrow trail a few feet from a stone staircase leading to the monastery’s entrance. By the time all of them had disembarked, the heavy wooden door had opened and an elder Dahl dressed in orange robes stood in the archway. Another, slightly younger, Dahl stood beside him.
Counselor Kalidas spoke first.
“My dear Abbot,” he said, swinging his arms out in a grand gesture, “thank you again for allowing this visit.”
The Abbot smiled briefly, but returned to an almost stoic expression.
“Yeah,” Lord Maycare said. “On behalf of House Maycare, thank you for letting us into yours.”
Henry noticed that Maycare looked proud of what he had just said, even though Doric was the one who came up with it in the grav car just before they arrived.
As if with great effort, the Abbot nodded.
“The Dharmesh Monastery welcomes you, Lord Maycare,” he said gravely. “We hope you understand the great importance we place on our privacy and will respect our wish to keep our solitude in the future.”
“Absolutely!” Maycare said. “We’re not going to make this a habit if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Imperium Chronicles Box Set Page 16
