The Acolytes of Crane "Updated Edition" (26 page)

‘Ed, are you Sepheran?’ I asked.

‘No, I am not sure what you are
referring to. I am robotic. I am mechanical, and therefore incapable of
emotion. We should get along, because where I lack in emotion, you will
counter-balance nicely. I am observing some wounds to your body and some
anguish within your mind. Can I please inspect you?’ he asked.

‘Ah, well, I guess it would not
be the weirdest thing that has happened to me in the last month. So, yeah, go
for it,’ I said.

‘What is your name, sir?’ he
said, stopping to observe, and I told him I was Theodore,

‘That is a good name. All right,
the full report. We have a number of problems here: your wounds are consistent
with damage inflicted by an Ophanim. It looks like you were restrained at some
point before the damage, as your mind shows signs of recent severe memory loss.
You also have an abrasion to your cornea in your left eye. My guess is that you
attempted to close your eyes to protect them when you saw the Ophanim guard
firing at you, but you still sustained an eye injury. Have you been in combat,
sir?’ Ed asked.

‘Yes, but it isn’t like what you
think,’ I said. ‘Just battle simulation.’

‘This isn’t an interrogation. I
am only trying to understand the nature of your evacuation so that I can
provide you with optimal service. You are my master. I am robotic, and I am
limited to my purpose. My goal is to help you in the event there is an
emergency. Please comply.’

‘Well, I was still under a
nanocom linked to a supreme being. I started questioning my servitude to him,
and then I blacked out. When I woke up, there was a battle going on, and I
escaped. That is all I know.’

‘That actually helps me more than
you know. Now I know there is something wrong with your brain. I will attach
these electrodes to your head, while I stitch this arm up, and as well, correct
your cornea with my carbon dioxide laser.’

‘Wait, you can do all that at
once?’ I asked, very impressed.

‘Don’t be irrational, this
technology has been around for thousands of years. Yes, I can, and it will be
quick, but not painless, so here is a sedative.’ Swiftly, using a robotic arm
equipped with a needle, he struck me with an injection of diazepam, a sedative.

‘Wow—you little jerk!’ I yelped
out from the stab of pain.

‘There, that should make things
go a lot easier, just lay back on your seat, and I will fix you right up. Count
to ten,’ he said.

“‘One, two, three, fourrrr,
fivvvvvvve, sixxxthhhhh,’ I said, lisping. My tongue felt fat, and my lips
numb. I fell asleep.”

I will place this tablet down for
a moment. It is numbingly cold in my cell.

Now is a good time to eat my
mush. I pick up this paper-like plate and sit by the door to eavesdrop. The
food tastes funny, like soap, or earwax. These plates are treated with a sort
of flame retardant, and I can taste something tainting this steaming bland
food. I started overhearing conversations arising from the hallway outside my
cell.

“Hey rookie! How is it going? You
must be here to relieve me?” the veteran guard asks.

“Don’t you think I am beyond the
rookie stage, sir?”

“It has been a couple of days
since your promotion, kid—you’re still a rookie to me. Okay, I have someone
waiting for me at my quarters. That’s right, this is your big day–your first
shift alone. This guy is tough, and don’t let his skinny body fool you.”

“Alright,” the rookie says.

I can hear the veteran walking
down the hall.

The rookie is on duty. I have a
chance to get that nurse in here. I should do it now, while the veteran guard
is preoccupied. You have to hand it to the veteran—he knows many of my tricks.

I shove all of this food into my
mouth, and swallow it completely, poking my finger along the back of my tongue
to trigger my gag reflex. I bend my head down, so that turret cannot see my
actions. My abdomen flexes, a belch of food lands on my tongue from within, and
I jam my finger further until it touches my uvula.

Blaaaaa! I vomit, puking all over
that view box. The rookie’s feet shuffle. Hearing the slide open, I drop to
this floor. I try to be still with my back to the vault and pretend to be
unconscious.

“Sir! There is something wrong
with the prisoner!” the rookie yells.

“Call the warden directly for
clearance!” The vet shouts from down the hallway, loud enough for me to hear.

“Warden. Prisoner number
eight-six-seven-five. Open request. Prisoner is unconscious and immobile,” the
rookie says, with his voice shaky and choppy. “Guns hot, I am in position.
Waiting for back-up—over. Prisoner. If you can hear me, stand and proceed to
the wall to assume the static position!”

I don’t respond. I am near the
door and focusing my entire mind listening for clues. I hear the veteran
approaching.

“Gun on the door,” the veteran
says, “Like in drill. Keep your weapon on the prisoner. Got it?”

The rookie exclaims, “Yes sir!”

“Can I get medical in here? I
have a prisoner down. Possible fatality—wait—he is breathing!” the veteran
shouts.

To me the rookie says, ‘Don’t
move an inch, prisoner!’

The veteran looks up. ‘Can you
get someone down here as soon as possible?” I hear light and quick footsteps
across the floor, and the veteran speaks, “You know what is wrong with this
prisoner? Why does he keep going down?”

I hear the soothing voice of the
nurse, warming my heart. “He is malnourished and the brain scan shows his
neural levels are consistent with depression and periodic hallucinations. He
may die any moment. I have to check his eyes.”

“Ma’am. Don’t place yourself
between us and the prisoner!” the veteran shouts, but she carries on, ignoring
him.

“It will only be a morget,
guard—relax,” she snaps back. She peels my lids upward. This is the first time
I have seen her face up close. Stiffening, I fight back every urge to avoid
jump up embrace her, because I recognize her. I remember her from the planet
Karshiz. She is a member of the Rangier faction for the resistance. I cannot
put a name to her face, but man, am I glad to see we are still working in
solidarity together.

“Back off, back off,” she shoos
away the guards. “I need a better view so I can check his pulse. First, I will
make sure our equipment is functioning properly.”

She leans in again. I smell her
delicate perfume. She whispers to me, “Theo, hold on.”

After examining me thoroughly
with an excellent bedside manner, she finally steps aside, and says out loud,
“Prisoner should be stable after about fifteen minutes.” With a tilt back of
her head, and jutting out her hip to one side, she addresses the personnel at
the turrets. “I will be at the bar Cridovian for drinks later, with the girls.
Anyone wanna join me?”

“I’ll be there!” the veteran
guard says with a note of delight in his voice.

“I am not going,” the rookie
sullenly says, and there is a moment of silence. I sense a stand-off between
these two guards. The younger one is attempting to insinuate that the older
guard is forsaking his responsibilities, even if it is during his off-duty
time.

“Alright, Cridovian it is,” she
says, while winking seductively at the veteran guard. “See you, maybe.” The
veteran grins, bows slightly, and tips his hat at her.

The hard soles of boots scuffle
against the floor and mask the woman’s steps. The closing vault brings me back
to reality, but with an inkling of hope. I need to remain still, to carry out
my pretense further. Finally, after an agonizing fifteen minutes, as my arms
and legs scream out “creeping sleep sensation!” I stretch and restore
circulation to my body. Acting groggy, I spend another ten minutes acting as if
I were arousing myself.

It is important to act normal.
They are watching me. Focus. The warden wants an account, and I will give him
one. Time to go back to recording my story.

I use the tablet. It powers up
and I say, “Let’s see. I escaped from the Uriel, and then I met Ed for the
first time. Oh yeah.”

I heard my trusted emergency
robot speak. He said, ‘Please don’t make any sudden movements. You have been
asleep for five hours human time. When I examined you with the electrodes, I
found the impulses within your brain were firing in a way consistent with an
implanted device. You were exhibiting implantitus, an inflammation caused from
a software virus within your implant. I removed the device, cleared the virus
and rebooted your implant so that it is now clear of any prior programming. I
had to reinsert it, which is why you have an excruciating headache and a
bandage around your head. But now your implant is clear for any new use, should
you wish to do so.’

‘I don’t feel that good,’ I said,
groaning.

I stood up with my back to the
command shield, and Ed handed me a dry towel to wipe the sweat off my face. I
turned around to grab some water.

‘We are approaching a planet as
well, sir,’ he said. ‘Its name is Tritillia.’

In front of us was a green
planet, vibrant and alive, bathed by the rays of a nearby star. I sat,
transfixed by the image on the main screen. Up until now, I only saw pictures
of planets in encyclopedias at the library and at school, as well as on the
Internet. This planet was different. There were no large bodies of water like
Earth, but I did see long and wide river systems.

‘I remember this planet well,’ I
said. ‘I’ve never been there, but it was a very popular backdrop for much of
our training back on the Uriel.’

‘Very good, sir. I can’t say
anything of the Uriel, for it would be most disrespectful,’ Ed said.

I swiveled to my tin companion.
‘Can’t, or won’t?’

Ed blinked. ‘Very astute. I
won’t. Indeed, a most nasty ship.’

‘I admire you. Is there still
someone following us?’ I asked.

‘There has been no indication,
sir. If you would like, I can take evasive actions once we enter the planet’s
atmosphere. I have been programmed with numerous techniques to avoid capture.’

‘Yes, please do that.’ I rubbed
my chin. ‘Why this planet?’

“Sir, you cannot meander in space
forever. You need food and water. I have sources that indicate to me that the
Elons on this planet could be valuable allies.’

‘Whoa. What are Elons?’

‘I know very little about them. I
will brief you now. But there is no other planet close by. Given the huge risks
that face us, I recommend an attempted landing.’

‘Very good. How long will it take
me to recover from my wounds?’

‘Your wounds? On a human body, at
least two weeks,’ he said.

‘I have this syrup. Do you think
it could help?’ I asked, and handed him the vial that I had seen upon my
escape.

‘This is dephlocontis mucilage.
Yes, very good. With this substance your wounds will be healed within minutes,
maybe an hour at the most. I should have queried you. Since you are irrational,
you have failed to disclose important information. I am going to rub some of
this on your wounds, and I want you to consume three tablespoons. We’ll save
the rest in case you sustain another injury later on. We make our descent once
you are finished with this medicine.’

There was no sign of the tailing
ship. They might have been cloaked as we were, or just out of our radar range.

As I gazed at the awe-inspiring
planet, I finally started to reflect what had happened upon my last moments
aboard the Uriel. There was no way to escape any savaging of my reputation
aboard the Uriel, even though I might have been controlled by Odion’s mind. I
fervently prayed for my friends, fretting that they would hate me by now.

Wait. I froze as my thought
seized me. Nezatron had mentioned a traitor, someone who had attempted to hack
into the database aboard the Uriel. It wasn’t me, that’s for sure. And I
distinctly remembered King Trazuline’s voice as he guided me to my escape. Was
it really him? I was in a stupor most of the time during my mad scramble—was I
recalling correctly?

Why would Trazuline be covertly
undermining Zane? My blood gelled. Tez! These sweet hushed tones she had
conveyed to me—was she part of her father’s plot too? I tormented myself, and
pleaded to no one that nothing would happen to her.

We orbited the planet for about
an hour, searching for a port of entry. Ed was concerned that we might be
risking our lives. To my surprise, he informed me that this ship wasn’t really
designed for a planet’s atmosphere. It was only designed to shuttle in between
ships in outer space, nothing more.

‘I don’t care,’ I told him. ‘I’m
not going to stay stuck in space forever. Land the craft.’

‘Aye-aye, sir.’

Ed was emotionless. He sat and
did exactly what I told him to do. He only engaged me if I asked something of
him. I realized how amazing the artisanship and science behind the Dietons was,
compared to the limitations of robotics. Since he was not composed of Dietons,
Ed was limited. At least I had nothing to fear from him. There was no way Zane
could control him.