The Prefect was late in coming to his office that morning: a singular occurrence, and one calculated to be deliberately galling. It worked. Par Com Sar was furious.
“General Flea,” the cyborg boomed at him. The spokesman's volume was always too high, but being angry, the volume had been cranked up to cause pain and discomfort. Flea and his receptionist didn't just hear the deep, electronic voice, they felt it in their breasts. “What is the meaning of this? Why have you not been available? Why have you ignored our communications?”
The Spokesman for Evolution was the only cyborg with a face. Its visage was glossy white smoothness. The features might have been considered beautiful individually on any number of real faces, but upon being combined together in perfect artificial symmetry, the result was exaggerated and a little grotesque: reminiscent of cosmetic surgery gone wrong. The lifeless, compound optics in place of the eyes were horrifying: especially when Sar sneered, as it was wont to do. Some fault in the underlying emotive mechanisms resulted in repetitive twitch of its upper lip.
It had been a shock to Flea, to see firsthand how much humanity lingered in the cyborg. According to Sar, its personal 'evolution' had stripped away the corrupting emotions and animal instincts that had impaired humanity for all of the race's long, sordid history: leaving nothing behind but logic and precision calculation. It was nevertheless arrogant, conceited, brash and impulsive, which Flea found strangest of all. Sar was a remarkably inept diplomat.
“Oh, I didn't ignore them, good fellow,” Flea replied cheerily. “I read every single one. Good morning Ali. Did Ellenstein write up her report? I'll have it please.”
“Yes sir,” said the demure young secretary. He passed Flea a data slate and blanched at the cyborg's following outburst.
“You read my messages and chose not to respond?”
“Oh, I responded. I sent Captain Ellenstein with a detail. Shall we read her report together? Thank you Ali, coffee please.”
Flea brushed past the reception desk and entered his office, clearing his throat. “'At 22:11, per Prefect's orders, I responded to the scene of the incident. Found Evolution drones and centurions present in force. Attempted to ascertain the cause of the disturbance and was forbidden access to the scene. After some minutes, I was commanded,'
“Take note of that word my friend: commanded.
“'I was commanded by a centurion to employ my troops in going door to door, rounding up suspects. Centurion refused to explain what constituted a suspect or what crime individuals were suspected of committing. After a delay, it was clarified that I was expected to arrest everyone in a one kilometer radius of where I stood. I refused. The centurion threatened violence. A standoff ensued, in the course of which I felt obligated to call Major Odo for reinforcements, fearing for my safety, the safety of my troops, and the safety of the citizens of Goodenough.'
“Shall I continue?”
“You know that's not necessary. You know every syllable you've uttered has been a waste of time. You do this to irritate me.”
Flea smirked, and went on irritating Par Com Sar. “'Per Prefect's orders, we retreated to a distance no less than two hundred meters and established a cordon. We waited, and observed Evolution forces disperse starting at 04:29 hours. At 05:35 hours, per Prefect's orders, all militia forces returned to barracks.'
“You see my friend? I did respond -at great expense to my sleep and general comfort, I might add. Now, please feel free to tell me what all the fuss was about.”
“How did you communicate your orders?” Sar demanded, after a brief consultation with Evolution. “There is no record of messages being relayed between you and Captain Ellenstein.”
“You're eavesdropping on militia communiques?” Flea asked with feigned shock and outrage.
“Don't be a flop,” Sar responded. “Tell me how you relayed those messages.”
“Come now. You can't seriously expect me to reveal a secret military communications network.”
“Keeping this secret can be considered an act of aggression.”
Flea turned cold for a moment, and spared the cyborg a look of icy disdain as he lit a slender cigar. The puff of soothing smoke and the hot shot of coffee that followed restored his sunny disposition however.
“Commanding my officers to round up people is an act of aggression, friend Sar. I made it clear to you at the onset of your ...visitation... that the militia would neither aid, nor tolerate any such actions.”
“More aggression,” Sar sneered. “It's foolish of you to refuse. We could wipe out your militia with ease, and and all life on this planet if we chose.”
“I don't doubt it,” Flea replied, more cheerful than ever. “But you don't have time to fight a counter-insurgency or conduct a pogrom, as we both know very well. The Andorrans have put you under a time constraint.”
“The might of Evolution is factors greater than the Congress of Andor.”
“Maybe, but you're just one cruiser all by itself here, and you're not getting any reinforcements.”
“Aren't we?” Sar challenged.
“If you were, you wouldn't have stripped the space port garrison after the Andorrans showed up. You've been combing the desert like there's no tomorrow. And there won't be a tomorrow for you, if the Andorrans come charging back too fast to evacuate. Your cruiser will leave you behind just as easily as you murdered all those people at the space port. How does my math figure? Or do you suppose Evolution values its appendages on the planet as much as its gate ship?”
Flea felt a rush of elation to see the cyborg fidget: fidget! It was practically human still! “Come Sar. Let's stop with the posturing already. My militia may be a joke to you, but you're in no mood to laugh. Now, tell me what was so important that you were almost willing to go to war last night.”
“We lost one of our constituents,” Sar admitted, after another consultation with Evolution.
“A constituent? Not a drone? What was it doing away from the star port and the Palace?”
“It was sent to spy on Sinsin Cu.”
“We agreed you wouldn't deploy observers in the city,” Flea said sternly.
“The circumstances are extenuating. Cu is implicated as an accomplice to the Andorrans and he's not a citizen of Ar Suft.”
“Surely you don't think he killed your observer?”
“The geel's actions are accounted for. It couldn't have been him. The attack originated from beyond detection range. A laser was used.”
“Your Andorran infiltrators,” Flea said.
“Or your militia,” Sar suggested.
Flea laughed briefly. “A laser is a little fancy for us. We must make do with kinetics. Some of my officers carry personal light casters and other such family heirlooms, but nothing so exotic as a man-portable laser.”
Sar was more irritated than ever to hear this. It was deeply mistrustful of Flea, and had suspected the militia's involvement from the moment it had been informed of the observer's loss. When Flea had refused to respond to its communiques and an entire battalion of militia had been mobilized, seemingly against Evolution, Sar had been certain that Flea had been flipped by the Andorrans. Yet the Prefect had just aced every observable metric in the lie-detection suite. The militia had no lasers in its arsenal, and Flea had spoken with genuine conviction when he had named the Andorran infiltrators as the likely culprits.
“Now, tell me why you think Sinsin Cu is in league with the Andorrans.”
Sinsin Cu wasn't in league with the Andorrans. He tried to explain this several times in the course of his interview, but he wasn't believed.
“Truanna Sky's communications are monitored,” Par Com Sar told him. “We know you agreed to consult for her expedition here on this planet. She is operating as an agent of the Luna family of the Congress of Andor. Ergo, Professor Cu, you are in league with them.”
“If you've been monitoring her communications then you know that my relationship with Truanna is of a personal nature. I was a friend and colleague of her mother's,” Sinsin said patiently. “Nothing more. You should also know what I told her in regards to consultation. I'm not an expert on Ancient technology, nor am I particularly familiar with this planet. I agreed to come here only because she insisted that I have an obligation.”
“What's the nature of the obligation?” Flea wanted to know. He had greeted Sinsin cordially upon his arrival, made enthusiastic offers of coffee and other refreshments, but had promptly abandoned his guest to Par Com Sar's interrogation. He had sat impassively at his desk, and quietly made love to a cigar until his curiosity became piqued.
“Her mother saved my life once.”
“How?”
“Is this relevant?” Par Com Sar interjected testily.
“She intervened with the Truth of Light on my behalf. They were going to execute me for sacrilege. On a dig on Hadrian's World, I came across an Ancient artifact, purely on accident while excavating a New Dawn site, and they took exception.”
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
“Because you didn't turn it over?” Flea asked, his eyes twinkling.
“I did,” Sinsin replied, surprising his listeners. “That was when they arrested me.”
“Fanatics,” Flea said, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “And your friend? This agent's mother: where does she fit into all this?”
“She doesn't. Not any more. She was murdered,” Sinsin said flatly, with a pointed look at the cyborg. “Somebody broke into her office, killed her and stole her research data.”
“What was she researching?”
“She was a tech hunter,” Sar answered. “Like Sinsin here, she disguised her illicit pursuits under a cloak of academia, but she was in fact, a tech hunter.”
“So is Evolution,” Sinsin replied. “So is the Congress of Andor and every other major power in the galaxy. You tiptoe around the Truth of Light and Combine laws the same as any tech hunter, only when you fight over the riches of the Ancients, it's war. Dana Sky was only ever interested in knowledge and understanding. She never hurt anyone.”
“You have Evolution's condolences for your loss,” Sar replied, and Flea choked on his cigar.
“Am I to understand that you're expressing regret for killing her?” Sinsin asked slowly.
“We didn't kill her.”
“So it's just a coincidence that you're here and that you're monitoring her daughter's private messages.”
“Not at all,” Sar said lightly. “Contrary to her daughter's current allegiances, Dana Sky worked for us. Evolution sponsored her research and in return, she turned over materials of interest.”
“I don't believe you,” Sinsin said, stunned.
“Nevertheless,” Sar said complacently. “It's true. You can be sure of it, because if we had stolen her research data, we would already have found what we're looking for. Unfortunately, we only have her preliminary report to go on. Of course, if we had your expertise, things might be different.”
Sinsin was stunned again. “I'm not interested in Evolving Par Com Sar,” he said slowly.
“We had in mind something a little less extreme: a similar arrangement to the one we had with your friend. I would like to offer you a sponsorship. Think of it! The resources of Evolution are not inconsiderable. We could achieve so much together, and not just on Ar Suft. There is an entire galaxy of worlds out there awaiting your discovery. And who knows? Perhaps in twenty or thirty years, when you feel your mortality a little more keenly, your mind may welcome the opportunity to shed its body and continue its noble pursuits unfettered. Indefinitely. It's not immortality that Evolution offers, but something very close to it.”
“By sponsor, you mean...”
“Credits, as much money as you could need, transportation, security, tools, labor -a whole legion of drones if you want them. Imagine going back to Tarkis Tarkin and not needing a pressure suit Professor. Imagine if you could telecast directly into a machine and work the ocean floor for hours, or even days on end!”
Sinsin felt a tug of temptation. How could he not? He was being offered what he had always wanted and more: limitless resources with which to pursue his passion for knowledge and discovery. Even the idea of shedding his body wasn't nearly so revolting to him as it might have been, once upon a time. He was already old: already feeling his mortality, and he saw the practical benefits to exchanging tiring, faulty flesh for durable, precision machine. Besides, who wouldn't want to live forever -especially if he could spend eternity doing what he most wanted to do?
His temptation was brief however. Sinsin knew too much about Evolution to take it at its word. It wasn't above telling lies or making false promises to get what it wanted, and it didn't honor debts if it didn't have to.
“What is it you're looking for?” Sinsin asked.
“If you agree to help us, we'll turn over every scrap of data we have.”
“Of course you would,” Sinsin said impatiently. “You would have to if I was to be any use to you. That's besides the point. I'm asking you what it is you're even looking for.”
“First things first Professor.”
“It's something I would have to consider,” Sinsin said after many mandible and antennae gyrations.
“Of course,” Sar said congenially. “But consider quickly Professor. Time is pressing. As a show of good faith, we've added an exception to local hub access for your device. Please feel free to use it to contact us at any time.
“Now then, I believe General Flea wished to go over the matter of your immigration?”
Flea snuffed his cigar as he stood. “Let me bring you to my adjunct, if you don't mind. I set him to the paperwork yesterday.”
They left Par Com Sar in Flea's office. Stepping out into the hallway, Sinsin was once again struck by the impression of an abandoned building. Flea's office had been homey: full of creature comforts and decorations, but the hallway had the look of being stripped. There were shadows on the walls where portraits and paintings had once hung. The palace echoed for want of carpeting, furniture, or even drapes. It was in a state of general disrepair, with the plaster and gold leaf left to crack and flake away. Everywhere he looked, it was dusty and dirty.
“You have the tiger by its tail,” Sinsin remarked as they walked.
Flea laughed. “A charming expression! Did they ever exist do you think? Have you seen one in your travels, or found their remains perhaps?”
“Unfortunately not. I suspect they're a creature of myth and legend, like bears and dragons.”
“That's a sad thought,” Flea sighed. “I had a miniature tiger as a little boy: an Old Empire animatoy of fur and synthetic flesh. I firmly believed it was alive for years. Even after my father caught me talking to it and smashed it to pieces I harbored doubts.
“Ah, Paulie! Paulie, Paulie, Paulie, my friend. Did you finish up that paperwork I set you to do?”
Flea addressed this last to an enormously fat and simple man, seated behind an ornate wooden desk in another office. The adjunct smiled and blushed as if he had just been complimented on his looks, and assured the Prefect that he had done as he had been asked. Only, he hadn't. The documents were incomplete and ridden with errors. It would have to be redone.
“I'm sorry General,” the man said miserably. “I'll fix it.”
“Get Samantha to help you Paulie. I'm sorry Professor,” Flea said happily. “Come with me, there's a spot just over here where we can sit and have coffee while we wait.”
Flea took Sinsin to a small room, featuring comfortable couches and chairs, some decorative flora and a little kitchenette. “You can relax here and speak freely. Evolution hasn't bugged this room.”
“I see.” Sinsin said, distracted. There was an odor in the room: something very much like geel danger scent. The smell was off: chemically and artificial. He followed its wafting scent to a side table, where a data slate rested upon its surface. Sinsin casually woke the device from its power saving mode and read the opening lines of a militia memorandum on Evolution surveillance in the building: reminding all staff to avoid making inflammatory remarks out of consideration for Ar Suft's cyborg 'guests.'
Flea busied himself with the coffee pot: a traditional percolator of geel design and manufacture. It had been appropriated specifically for this meeting, and he hadn't had the time to learn its use; he was floundering. Sinsin nudged him aside and took over the brewing. “I take it you have a proposal of your own for me.”
“You see right through me Professor! Yes, though it's more or less the same proposal Par Com Sar made. I want you to agree to work for Evolution, by way of doing me a favor.”
“So your grip on the tail is slipping.”
“Not quite yet, but I can only demand so many concessions before the math gets imbalanced, and Evolution decides that genocide and scorched earth is more efficient than tiptoeing around the bothersome little people.”
“You have a good understanding of Evolution I find.”
“Have the Andorrans tried to contact you?” Flea asked abruptly.
“No,” Sinsin said firmly. “So the rumors are true? They landed troops on the planet?”
“A single shuttle made it to the surface. They can't amount to much of a force, but they upset the balance of risks wonderfully. Especially after last night.
“They killed an observer outside your building,” Flea explained.
Sinsin's antennae and mandibles gyrated furiously. “I had no idea.”
“When they do contact you, I hope you'll report it to me immediately. If you don't, I fear the consequences for my city and my people.”
More gyrations. “I have no loyalties to the Andorrans,” Sinsin said eventually. “But I hardly wish to be the cause of their destruction any more than the people of Goodenough.”
“To be clear Professor, I'm not asking you to turn them over to Evolution, but to come to me. Though they are foreign agents operating on Ar Suft, without the permission of its government, there is no state of war between the House of Monet and the Congress of Andor. I assure you, I have no interest in instigating such a war either. If they can be convinced to surrender peacefully, I would merely hold them in custody. That would satisfy Evolution as well.”
“That's all?”
“Well, I might be inclined to hold them as hostages, and use them extort the Congress for certain concessions, once Evolution has moved on,” Flea admitted. “But I give you my word, I would not kill or mistreat them.”
Flea smiled complacently, and was content to loiter passively as Sinsin considered what to do. The coffee maker whistled, and he served it. The silence continued until he sipped his brew, and he sighed rapturously. “May I offer you a cigar?”
“Thank you.”
Flea's eyes hardly bulged, and he stared only a little at the way Sinsin bit the cigar and chewed it distractedly, like an appetizer.
“You may tell Evolution that I've yielded to your arguments,” Sinsin said eventually. “I'll need some time to sort out the matter of the Andorrans however. I can't be seen to be under Evolution's protection or surveillance for the time being, but perhaps having a member of the militia at my side would provide it with a sense of security and oversight.”
“What an inspired notion!” Flea gushed enthusiastically. “Dallas would be perfect I think.”
“Dallas? The young man who picked me up from the star port?”
“The very same. He holds an ensign's commission with the militia. I didn't send him to spy on you!” Flea said quickly, seeing Sinsin's shock and distress. “It's just a happy coincidence.”
“Isn't he rather young for this kind of responsibility?”
“Not at all. He's quite dependable. He wouldn't have a commission otherwise.”
“I'm not really in the militia,” Dallas said modestly. The young man had brought Sinsin to the Old Palace, but had waited by his car for the geel's return. He had been shocked by Flea's officious declaration that he was being called to duty, and received the data slate bearing his written orders with wonder and bewilderment.
“I'm assigning you to be Sinsin's driver and guide,” Flea had declared, summing up the orders that Dallas read. “You'll assist him in any way you can and report to me on everywhere he goes and everything he says and does. His security and safety is his own affair however,” Flea said with a sidelong glance at the geel. Sinsin had insisted he make this speech. “You are not to consider yourself as responsible for his life in any way. You are not his bodyguard. Is this understood?”
“Well, everybody is in the militia these days,” Dallas continued as he flew them away from the Old Palace. “More or less. But I mean, I'm just a reserve pilot for the transport squadron. I don't really do anything. I'm just a name on a list. If too many active duty pilots get sick or hurt, they'll have me fly a bus for a while. It's not like I fly a fighter or anything.”
“I see,” Sinsin said. “May I see your orders?”
“I... think so,” Dallas said, glancing at the data slate. “It doesn't say anything about them being confidential.”
“Interesting,” he muttered. The data slate differed very little from Flea's summary. The Prefect was unspecific about how Dallas should go about reporting on Sinsin's activities: the form it should take, how often it should be done, or even to whom Dallas should report.
“Do you know the Prefect well Dallas?” Sinsin asked.
“Oh no. Not really.”
“But he seems to be on intimate terms with your family.”
“I suppose,” Dallas admitted, oh-so cautiously. “He would say we're friends, and he would mean it, but I can't really say that I know him. It's not like he confides in me or anything.”
Sinsin frowned. “Can I trust him to keep his word do you think?”
“Oh sure!” Dallas said enthusiastically: boyishly. Dallas saw Sinsin's amusement and disbelief. He smiled self consciously. “He's what we call a gentleman around here. His family is of a Lesser Line of Monet: a sort of local noble. I'm not saying he's honest or even good, but he would never break his word. Are... are you sure he actually gave his word?”
Sinsin's mandibles gyrated thoughtfully. “I think I understand you. Yes. Yes, he gave his word. This is good. This is very promising,” he said happily.
“What is?”
“I'd like to go by the star port. There's somebody there I would like to see.”
“Right now?”
“That's not a problem is it?”
“Well, no, but Aunt Kay is going to be so pissed,” he said with a laugh. “I still haven't fixed those condensers.”
“Never mind. I'll help you with them later. To the star port please!”