Dark Foundations (37 page)

“Miss Betafor,” Merral said slowly, his mouth peculiarly dry, “let's take this step by step. First, who are you?”

“Betafor will suffice. I am an Allenix unit.” The voice
was
odd, he realized, hearing now a strange synthetic edge to it.

There were rapid footsteps in the corridor outside. The door was flung open and the light came on. Blinking, Merral looked up to see Lloyd standing in the doorway, dressed in shorts and a vest and clutching the ugly double-barreled gun that was his current weapon of choice.

Merral raised a finger to his lips and beckoned him over. “Please explain, Betafor. Wait! I'm going to record this. Is this okay?”

“Yes. I assumed you were recording. Or is this an Assembly protocol I am not aware of?”

“Conversations are considered private unless permission is given.”

“Even in war?”

“That's an interesting issue.”

“I give permission. Now listen, there is a lot to explain. I am an Allenix unit. We are used throughout the True Freeborn and Dominion worlds for observation, negotiation, and translation. I am one of the two such units that were on the vessel.”

“You're a machine?”
If so
,
this is
not at all like we have. Our machines never mimic human speech in this way. The technology protocols prohibit it.

“Commander, I prefer that the term
machine
not be used.”

Lloyd's mouth gaped wide.

“I am best described as an . . . intelligent synthetic organism. Other terms such as a
synthetic person
or even a
nonbiological organism
might be usable. We could discuss the terminology at length another time. But you will find it easier to deal with me if you treat me as you would a human being, a
female
human being.” There was an edge of exasperation in the tone.

“Let me see you.”

“Later. There are other things to do now.”

Merral puzzled over the idea of a machine that could express emotion. “Please continue.” He turned to Lloyd and mouthed,
Get Vero. Fast!

His aide nodded and slipped out of the room.

The strange voice spoke again. “I have a sick man here who needs help. I do not have suitable medicines. I do not understand ailments of the human flesh. A condition of the arrangement—the deal—is that the knowledge that the sarudar and I exist is kept secret. Only the absolute minimum number of people must know.”

Merral realized that this machine—he found it hard to think of it as a female—had an excellent command of Communal. “Why?”

“I will explain. Let me elaborate the condition. My researches indicate that the general survey craft
Nesta Lamaine
is now repaired. I suggest that tomorrow Captain Lewitz and a copilot of her choice, fly you, a doctor, and Sentinel Enand south to Ilakuma tomorrow. All are to—”

“Wait! How do you know who we are? And how did you get access to me?”

“Commander, I know these things because most of your . . . communications systems are still open.”

“Oh,” Merral replied, suddenly feeling appallingly vulnerable.

“Good. Now—”

“No!” cried Merral, suddenly almost overwhelmed by his memories of what happened at Fallambet Lake. “Why should I trust you or anything from that foul ship? I was on board it. I saw what was there. It was evil.”

There was a long silence. “Commander, I understand your concern. I need to explain more things. There have been . . . humans that you had no knowledge of far beyond you in space. Until around half a standard year ago, there were two groups: the True Freeborn and the Dominion of Lord-Emperor Nezhuala. They fought and the Dominion won. But at the last battle, a group of men from the True Freeborn seized a Dominion ship, the
Rahllman's Star
, and fled here. The sarudar is the only survivor of those men. It is the Dominion who are your enemy. And they are coming.”

“A moment! I need time to absorb this.” Merral tried desperately to assemble the ideas—two human groups, a war between them, the ship being stolen—into some coherent pattern. Yet as he thought about it, he realized that it made some sort of sense.
The crew had been hiding, but not just from us.

“You need to talk to the sarudar about that ship and what was on it,” said Betafor. “As for myself, you must understand that I am only a machine. I was merely a . . . translator. I am programmed to serve.” There was a hint of pleading in the voice.

“But that programming may continue. You may still serve the True Freeborn as you call them.”

“I do not. The destruction of the ship has released me from their service. You will find me trustworthy.”

“Perhaps. This man—I didn't get the name—why should I trust him?”

“His name is Kezurmati Azeras and his . . . title is sarudar. Among the True Freeborn the first name is . . . was . . . rarely used outside the family. If you meet him, he will respond to Sarudar Azeras. As for why you should trust him, you must decide that. But learn this, you and he have a common enemy, as I now do. The Dominion will destroy us all. That is why we are hiding and that is why this must be kept utterly secret. It is only because the sarudar is close to dying that I have taken the risk of contacting you.”

“I see,” Merral said as he stared at the diary.
Can I be sure I'm not hallucinating? Or that I'm not still asleep and dreaming?

“We need your help, and in return we will help you.”

“How?”

“I offer you a deal.”

“What sort of deal?” Merral heard suspicion in his voice.

“In return for the successful medical treatment, I offer you and the Assembly advice and assistance that you will find useful. I expect the sarudar will do the same, if he recovers.”

“What sort of advice and assistance?”

“You have a . . . crisis, Commander.” Betafor paused. “Your worst fears are justified. The Lord-Emperor Nezhuala knows that you exist and that access to you is now possible. You can expect a visit from the Dominion very soon. As a world, you are unprepared for this. I can offer you advice that will help. You need me. Heal Sarudar Azeras, keep us secret and safe, and we will give you help.”

“Betafor, in the Assembly we do not ‘strike a deal' over injured people. We will do all we can to heal this man. We would do it anyway. I'm interested in any information you can offer, but I won't negotiate over a sick man.”

There was a pause as if Merral's statement required thought. “Hardly a rational response, but I accept your offer. But do you agree to the condition of secrecy?”

“Wait.” Merral paused. “A few more people must know. My aide, Lloyd, a biologist, Anya.”

“Anya Lewitz?”

“Yes.”

“As you wish, but no more. That is already seven people. But do you agree to the deal?”

“Wait.”
What do I say? Come on, Vero!

“Wait for what?”

“Tell me about yourself. We have no such machin—intelligent synthetic organisms.”

“I know. We Allenix are built to serve. I first served the Dominion and was taken by the True Freeborn and served them. But I am now prepared to serve the Assembly.”

“I see.”
I don't. Not at all.
“What does it mean to serve?”

“I may not understand your question correctly. I understand
serve
to mean that I obey you as long as my own survival is not threatened.”

I need to think about that.
To keep the conversation going, he asked, “Where could we meet you?”

“Two hundred meters east of the point where the Monatombo and Keletai Rivers join is a large flat rock big enough for a general survey craft to land on. You may find it easier to land there by daylight. I will be present a hundred meters to the east of your landing spot at exactly 1900 hours tomorrow local time. That is 1500 hours, Central Menaya time. I will reveal my location by a series of short flashes of white light.”

“That's very soon. It gives us barely sixteen hours.”

“I think you can arrange it. You are, after all, a commander.” There was a trace of sarcasm in the voice.

Can a machine be sarcastic?

Just then Lloyd slipped in and mouthed that Vero was on his way, but would be another ten minutes.

“Betafor, you mentioned Sentinel Enand. Can you call back in half an hour?”

“As you wish. But time is limited.”

The line went dead.

Merral threw a few more clothes on, brewed some strong coffee, and then, his mind in utter turmoil, replayed the conversation.
We have a claim that an intelligent machine and a man have survived the destruction of the intruder ship. It is either the longed-for and prayed-for breakthrough or something far nastier. God,
give me the wisdom to know which it is.

Merral then called up a map and imagery of Ilakuma on the wallscreen. Zooming to the highest resolution available, he found the rock slab at the river junction. It lay in the depths of a deep westward-facing valley in the heart of a rugged and highly fractured massif, and seemed almost overwhelmed by thick rain forest. It was at least a hundred kilometers from the island's only settlement—Port Angby.

“Good place to hide,” Lloyd said and Merral could only agree.

Ten minutes after the call had ended, Vero rushed in looking weary and sweating. “A problem?” he asked.

“I've had the most extraordinary message. It's hard to make sense of it. Listen to this.”

Vero listened wide-eyed to the conversation, his jaw moving up and down as if it had an independent life.

When the message ended, Merral said, “So, we have twenty minutes until the next call. What do we do?”

Vero looked first at Merral, then at the diary, and then back at Merral. “I h-had presumed I'd prepared for every eventuality.” There was a stunned tone to his voice. “But not th-this.”

“But is it genuine? And can we trust this . . . machine?”

Vero made no answer, but bounded to his feet and began pacing the floor. “My friend,” he said, his voice almost quivering with excitement, “I feel like my b-brain is bursting. There is just too much here: survivors of the ship, intelligent machines, above all.” He looked up, his brown eyes glistening. “The opportunity of information—information that we vitally need, but we thought we would never have. I think this may be the answer to our prayers. Oh, let it be genuine! And let it be in time.” He paused, raising a hand. “Ilakuma
.
Of course. That explains that anomaly.”

“But how could they have survived the blast?” Merral asked.

“The social anomalies at Ilakuma predate the destruction of the ship. They must have been there already. We knew there was a ferry craft.”

Merral caught a faint frown on Lloyd's face and gestured for him to speak.

“Sir, Mr. V.,” the large man said slowly, “look, I hate to say this, but can we rule out that this is a trap? Let's say they are survivors as they claim, right? But we destroyed their ship. These guys—well this guy and this thing—may wish for revenge.”

“A setup,” Vero said before turning to Merral with a hint of a smile. “Behold, another man who is immersing himself in pre-Intervention literature. I have trained him well. But it is a disturbing point and one that had occurred to me. My friend, what do you think?”

“I was working on vaguely parallel lines. After all, I have already met synthetic creatures who were intelligent.”

“Ah, the Krallen,” Vero said, with an uncomfortable look.

“There is another matter,” Merral added. “This thing wants a deal. Do I have the authority to negotiate with it? Isn't that something that should be decided by . . . I don't know . . . the representatives?”

Vero's face twisted into a look of unease. “Perhaps, my friend, but this is a gray area. Our Assembly habits of open debate and dialogue are not suited for a time of war.”

His troubled tone reminded Merral that a lot of what his friend had done had been without any higher authorization. Then Vero spoke again. “Were Corradon more on top of things, I think you would discuss it with him. But he isn't. So I think it is best to consider it a military matter. Therefore, it falls under your authority.”

“So being commander puts me above all normal authorities?”

“In matters of security. It is one of the dangers of war.”

“It's hardly satisfactory.”

“War never is.”

“Very well.” Merral sighed. “When this thing calls back, let's have a look at it.”

“I agree.”

At that moment the diary chimed.

“This is Betafor. I need a decision.”

“Betafor,” Merral asked. “We want to see you; can you go to visual?”

“Yes.”

“Then we will too.”

The wallscreen suddenly lit up with an image of an unevenly mottled green face with large dark gray eyes. Merral struggled to put together what he saw. Whether seen from the side or the front, the shape of the upper part of the face was triangular, narrowing to a point that would have been a nose on an animal. The lower part of the face, below a broad, thick-lipped mouth, was much shallower. The creature's eyes had a hint of lids. Behind the eyes were set a pair of triangular ears. The overall effect was closest to that of a dog. Yet the mottled skin with its fine bumps and indentations seemed closer to some sort of inorganic fabric than animal flesh.