by Vicky Savage
“I tried to stay hidden until the gates were in sight,” I say. “I wasn’t sure it was safe.”
“Let’s get you up to the house.” He bustles me up onto the wagon seat. “We saw the destroyed bushes and the blood on the ground where Ryder left you. Are you injured?”
“No just a small cut.” I hold up my bandaged hand. “Where’s Ryder? Is he all right?”
“Yes. He’s out searching for you. I’ve sent someone to find him and to call off the others.”
“What about Gabriel?” I ask.
“He was located and brought safely to the stables.”
The wagon rumbles up the drive to Father’s manor house and comes to a stop at the front steps. Mrs. Hornsby rushes out to meet us. “Thank the heavens you’re safe,” she says, squishing me in a warm embrace. “We’ve been frantic since we heard. My husband tells me we got six of them, but most got away.”
“Captain Hornsby was there?” I ask, following Father inside the house.
He nods. “One of my patrols came upon the struggle and sent for help. We were able to gain the upper hand fairly quickly, but four of your guards were slain before the attackers retreated.”
“Oh, god. That’s horrible.” This news makes me wobbly. I grasp the arm of a nearby chair and collapse into it. Father and Mrs. Hornsby hover over me.
“But you were able to take some prisoners?” I ask weakly. “Maybe we can find out who did this.”
“No prisoners, Jaden, I’m sorry to say. Six casualties on their side,” Father replies.
“Do we know where they came from or who sent them?” I ask.
“So far, there’s nothing to identify them. I wondered if you have any notion why you were ambushed. Certainly this was no mere robbery attempt.”
“No. They meant to kill me. I may have some theories as to why. That’s one of the reasons I came to see you. I’ve made some decisions that must be addressed legally. Did you ask Henry Balfour to meet with us?”
His brow tenses. “Yes, he’ll be here in the morning. What’s this about, Jade?”
“Maybe we can talk about it later when Ryder arrives.” I cut my eyes quickly to Mrs. Hornsby.
“Of course. I’ll just have a look at your hand, and Mrs. Hornsby can take you upstairs and help you bathe and change.”
“My hand’s fine, Father. Mrs. Hornsby can put a new dressing on it for me.”
“I’d like to examine it, sweetheart. It might be infected. Wounds become septic quickly in the forest.” He holds out his hand for mine.
Cold dread snakes down my back. There’s no sense arguing with him, though, it’ll only make him suspicious. I place my injured hand in his, holding my breath. He gently untwines the makeshift bandage, and inspects my palm closely, lightly tracing a finger down the length of the slash. His head is bowed, so I can’t gage his reaction. Slowly he rotates my hand and examines the corresponding slash on the opposite side. When he finally looks up, his eyes hold something inscrutable—curiosity? Awe, maybe?
“Who took care of this for you?” he asks quietly.
“I bandaged it myself,” I say, not answering the question.
“Remarkable. Something you learned from the Cleadians?” he asks.
Hanging my head, I make a small shrug. “I guess so.”
“Well it looks fine. Do you have full range of motion in your thumb?”
“Yes,” I say softly, wiggling my thumb for him.
“Utterly astonishing,” he mutters, rubbing his chin. “Mrs. Hornsby would you mind putting a clean dressing on this after Jaden’s bath?”
“Of course. Come, dear,” she says to me. “Let’s get you cleaned up and changed.”
After the hot bath, I feel almost human again. Mrs. Hornsby rubs aloe lotion on the scratches and scrapes on my arms and face and wraps a clean dressing around my hand. I slip into a soft, loose-fitting dress, and she combs out my hair.
“Why don’t you rest until the others return?” she says. “I’ll call you when they’re back.”
“That would be nice. Thanks, Mrs. Hornsby. You’ve made me feel much better.”
She gathers my ruined clothing in her arms and leaves quietly.
Stretching out on the bed, I close my eyes, but my thoughts are in turmoil. Is Uncle Harold really capable of ordering my assassination? He tried to invite himself along today, but maybe that was just a ploy to appear innocent. If not Harold, then who? Who else has something to gain by making me dead? Erica, certainly. But she’s not capable of orchestrating such an attack.
My ruminations are interrupted by a tapping at my door. Hoping it’s Ryder, I leap from the bed. Disappointment is quickly chased by irritation when I open the door to Ralston fidgeting nervously in the hall.
“May I come in Princess?” he asks obsequiously. I peer over his shoulder, and nod to a soldier newly stationed near my door.
“Your father has ordered additional security,” Ralston explains.
“Where’s Ryder?” I ask.
“He’s been told you were found and that you’re safe. He’s overseeing the return of the slain men to the Enclave and should arrive shortly.”
“Who was killed from our side?” I ask.
“Your guard, Josh Rogers, and three other soldiers whom I believe you do not know.”
“Oh god, that’s horrible. Poor Josh.” I step away from the door and motion Ralston inside.
“It is quite a tragedy. Are you all right, my dear? I was terribly worried for your safety.”
Right. Like you ever really cared. “You can drop the act, Ralston,” I say caustically. “I know you weren’t really worried about me, just like I know you don’t really care what happens to me.”
He looks genuinely wounded. “How can you say such a thing, Jaden? Of course I care what happens to you. I was frantic when we couldn’t locate you.”
“You know what, Rals? I’m tired of all your lies. Just get out of my room, please.”
“Jaden, what is it? Why are you so angry with me?”
“I’m angry because you’ve been lying to me from day one.”
He looks baffled. “Lying to you about what? I admitted I wasn’t entirely honest about things during your first visit, but since your return—”
“Just cut the crap, Rals. Why didn’t you ever tell me what you are?”
“What I am?”
“An automaton. A robot.”
He winces as if I’ve just slapped him. God, these machines are amazing.
“May I sit?” he asks, as if I really knocked him for a loop.
“Sure, sit. I’m not really a princess and you’re not really a man. We make a great pair, don’t we?”
He sits in one of the Queen Anne chairs, and I plunk down in the other. “Jaden, please listen to me for a moment. I did not tell you because, for one thing, I’m strictly forbidden to disclose that information. There are serious penalties for doing so. For another thing, I selfishly did not want to tell you.”
“Oh, yeah? So you could continue to run your little game on me?”
“No. Because I feared you might react exactly as you have. That you’d be angry and hurt.”
“Seriously, Rals? That’s such a load of crap. I thought we were friends. I thought you really cared about me.”
“I do care about you. I realized after today’s close call that your welfare is of the utmost importance to me.”
I glower at him. “How dare you even say that? Robots can’t care. They can act like they care, but they can’t really care. Robots don’t have genuine emotions.”
He hangs his head for a moment. When he looks up, his eyes are sorrowful and pleading. Good God, it’s hard not to be taken in by him again.
“Jaden, I ask you not to use the term robot to describe me. It may be technically accurate, but it is degrading.”
“Whatever,” I say throwing up my hands. “I loved you, Rals. I thought you were my best friend, and you betrayed me.” My lower lip quivers, but I refuse to let him see me cry.
“This relationship just isn’t going to work out anymore. You need to go back to IUGA and stay there.”
“May I have a moment to speak, my dear?” he asks.
“There’s nothing you can say that will change my mind, but yeah, go ahead.”
“Thank you. I’ve given a lot of thought to these things over the years, Jaden.” His pale eyes convey sincerity convincingly. “Where does emotion originate? How does one decide whom to love? These are questions I have struggled with, because I know that, as a technical matter, I’m not supposed to be capable of emotions, but I do have them. I swear to you, I do. They’re not just automated responses, they are real feelings.
“Perhaps my creators were too clever in programming me to react emotionally at appropriate times. I was given a memory of a childhood and a loving family in England. I was encoded to keenly discern honor, integrity, kindness, and wisdom in humans and to trust and revere these qualities. I was further programmed to shun those individuals who display characteristics of dishonesty, cruelty, and caprice. Of course, these are things that decent humans learn from their parents and from life experience, but they are the very same things that cause us to care for another.
“I ask you, where does your own capacity to love come from, Jade? Does it come from one of your physical organs? Your brain? Your heart? I think not. It comes from somewhere outside your physical body. It comes from that eternal spark that is you; derived from that creative, loving, all-knowing force that binds all things together. Call it your soul if you like, or the collective consciousness, or divine intelligence.
“Whatever name you give to it, can you answer the question who is worthy of a soul? I can’t. Is it only humans? I don’t believe that it is.
“I care deeply about you, my dear. I believe you already know that. It’s only your logical mind that’s telling you I’m incapable of emotion. But who can judge what genuine emotion is? When Kim Kardashian says she loves someone, does she really love them?”
I snort at the comparison, but he’s got a point.
“Jaden, I admire your courage, your integrity, and your capacity to love. If I did not care, why would I try to persuade you otherwise?”
“To gain my trust. To manipulate me.” I jut out my chin in challenge.
“But what possible motive could I have for doing that? I earned my old job back when I secured your agreement to return with me to Domerica. IUGA is indifferent to the outcome of your final decision, only that you arrive at it on your own. I arranged to stay on with you to see this through, because you asked me to, and because I care.”
“I don’t know, Rals,” I say. “I’m totally confused by all this. Look, I know there’s a difference between you and a toaster, okay. But do I believe you have a soul? I don’t see how you can. It’s not that I think only humans are worthy of a soul. I know for a fact my horse, Gabriel, has an enormous soul, and Fred and Ethel too. But they’re living things. You’re not.”
“It’s true, I was created by men,” he says. “But does that mean I’m denied access to that eternal quintessence? Jaden, if you believe that somewhere, at some time, before the big bang or whenever, the first lowly form of life was created by an intelligent force, then am I any less worthy? At the most basic, subatomic level, my dear, you and I are comprised of exactly the same thing.”
That kind of hits home. What he says is true. And I’m not going to pretend to know who or what endowed me with a soul. But still, it’s a stretch for me.
“I ask you to think back,” he says. “It wasn’t all pretending and play-acting. Search your heart. On the deepest level you know that I truly care for you.”
I gaze at him for a long minute. “Yes, I guess I do. I don’t how or why, but I believe you care. If that makes me some kind of starry-eyed lunatic, so be it. I’m in no position to know whether artificial intelligence can actually take on a life of its own, but you’ve been very kind to me, and in ways you didn’t need to be.”
Relief softens Ralston’s features.
“I have one question for you, though, and I want your solemn oath that you’ll answer me truthfully,” I say.
“I swear to you I will.”
“Did you really steal this necklace for me,” I ask pulling the wolf-head pendant from the neckline of my dress, “or did IUGA arrange for you to give it to me to earn my trust?”
One side of his mouth quirks up. “I actually did pilfer it for you. If you have any doubts about that, simply inform my Director that I gave it to you, and watch how quickly I’m demoted back to Junior Agent.”
“But how could you do that? Asher told me you guys are programmed so you can’t break the rules.”
“Our creators made us very intelligent, Jade. We’ve been programmed with more information than the average supercomputer. We’re given a rudimentary understanding of how our own systems work, so that we may perform minor repairs on ourselves if necessary. Using this knowledge, it was not difficult to discern a way to override some of the more incommodious restrictions placed on us. It’s a closely guarded secret within the IUGA automaton community. If the Director were to find out, I’ve no doubt adjustments would be made to correct the glitch.”
“So, they think you’re completely under their control, but you’re really keeping secrets from them?”
He nods.
“That’s pretty funny. I know something the Director doesn’t know.”
“I trust your complete discretion on this subject.”
“I’m not going to tell anybody. I think it’s kind of great, actually. Makes me believe you really do have a will of your own.”
He smiles with moist eyes. “Can we be friends again, old girl? I’d like to stay on with you at least until the wedding.”
I return his smile. “Yeah, we’re still friends, Rals. I need you right now. Things are getting weird around here. A bunch of guys just tried to kill me for money.”
He heaves a deep sigh. “Yes. That is quite troubling. I hope we’re able to get to the bottom of this. Several good men lost their lives today protecting you.”
“I know. I feel just rotten about it. Should I do something for their families? Should I send them money, pay for the funerals? What’s appropriate?”
“It’s kind of you to want to help,” he says. “Domerican funeral customs are quite different than those on your earth. As you know the Church of the Chosen preaches that every dome inhabitant is among the chosen and, therefore, will ascend directly to heaven upon the occurrence of death. The body left behind is viewed more as a discarded vessel, rather than a symbol of the person. There is no funeral per se, but rather a celebration of this ascension—usually a farewell feast of some sort. Some consider it a happy occasion. You might send a note to each family along with some delicacy or fine wine for the celebration.”
“That’s so weird. So there’s no period of mourning or anything?”
“Well, of course it’s an adjustment for the family, but no formal period of mourning as in some religions. The bodies will be cremated within five days, in accordance with Domerican law, and the family will do as they please with the ashes. There are no cemeteries or mausoleums in the dome. The closest thing to that is the columbarium below Warrington Palace where the ashes of the royal family are stored in vaults.”
I gaze at the twinkling crystal logs in the faux fireplace. “Thanks for being here to help me with all this, Rals.”
“My pleasure,” he says. “And thank you for believing in me.”
FORTY-TWO
Father, Ralston, and I gather in the drawing room to wait for Ryder. Mrs. Hornsby totters in with a tray of fresh lemonade and cookies. I settle into my favorite chintz chair with a handful of cookies. Father asks me to explain exactly what happened when I was hiding in the forest, so I tell them everything—except the part about shifting to Arumel so as not to be decapitated. Instead I make up a little fib about the guy’s sword getting lodged in a tree branch long enough for me to make a break for it.
“Before I got away, though, he said my corpse is worth two hundred thousand in gold,” I say.
Father scowls. “There are few who could offer that kind of money. That may be our strongest lead.”
The clatter of horses and wagons signals that Ryder and the others have arrived with the bodies of the slain men. I rush out onto the veranda to embrace Ryder, but he holds out an arm to stop me.
“My heart rejoices at the sight of you, love, but I’m vile with blood and filth,” he says. “I must shower and change before I’m able to bestow a proper greeting upon you.”
“I’m just happy you’re alive,” I say. “Get your shower, just don’t be too long.”
