Interphase (35 page)

When the melody ended, Sky's head rested against her shoulder. "That's so pretty," she sighed.

"I learned it a long time ago. It's a song that's meant as a gift for your truest friends, so that you will never forget them."

Analara felt small arms tighten around her waist. "Can you teach it to me?"

***

It was the smell that first drew him back to awareness. Shalaron had no way of knowing how long he'd been unconscious, but the scent cut through his mental fog like a blade. His lips curled in disgust. He opened his eyes and found himself lying on a cold stone floor, a sickening taste lingering on his tongue.

Throwing off a rough blanket, Shalaron fought to sit up. His muscles groaned with protest, and his head beat like a drum. He was unsurprised by his surroundings: a small stone enclosure, dark, save for the trickle of fading light coming from an open slit near the top of the room. He reached out with his senses and could feel the stone slab covering the entryway, a slab that had been created with his own power. His intuition had been correct. He was in a cell in Ilinar.

Shalaron also discovered he was not alone. There was just enough light to distinguish two figures sprawled along the floor of the room.

"Identify yourselves," he rasped, his throat parched.

"My lord Shalaron?" The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it. One of the figures crawled forward, and Shalaron could barely make out a long, bushy beard. "Praise Siath, you have awakened!"

"Varlath." The memory of Ilinar's most notable patriarch solidified in Shalaron's mind.

"Yes, my Sage," Varlath whispered. "Please forgive the state of this place. I am glad to see you awake. We feared the staleness of the air here would do your injuries ill."

"Why are you here?"

Varlath sighed bitterly. "Because I put my faith and trust in those who did not deserve it."

"What—"

The sound of stone scraping against stone filled the cell as the slab was rolled away. Light smote Shalaron in the face, but he refused to blink. He watched Varlath scoot back against the wall, fear written plainly on his squinting face. The other prisoner stirred from his place on the floor and muttered something sleepily.

Two guards garbed in Siathrak white stood at the entrance. A third figure approached and entered the chamber. His gaze fell upon Shalaron, and a foul smile twisted his lips. "So the great Sage has stirred from his rest. How fortunate for us all."

"Is that the captain I hear?" a voice slurred. The prone figure beside Varlath propped himself up by an elbow and regarded the Siathrak with a somnolent glare. "Come to bleat in our ears further, Sarolkh? If the Siathrak priests' voices are anything like yours, one of their sermons could make a nightmare seem welcoming."

Shalaron's gaze pierced through the shadows surrounding the warrior's face, and he recognized the insignia of a guard captain of the Holy Army.

"Ever charming, boy," Sarolkh sneered, but his gaze remained fixed on Shalaron. "I wonder if you will ever tire of the beatings over your ill-mannered tongue. My soldiers do enjoy the exercise."

"Not so long as your soldiers throw blows like a dying neerb. They couldn't beat a baby temken into submission. I've almost come to look forward to my daily massages."

"Truly you have no shame, wildkin. Or perhaps you were taught this insubordination. Mayhap you are actually a secret pupil of the great Sage of Ilinar. Do you claim responsibility for this one's actions, Shalaron?"

Shalaron's eyes narrowed, and he set his gaze on the other prisoner. The presence of a mental power was unmistakable. Gray eyes met his, and Rupu's mouth fell open in astonishment. "My lord!"

He moved to stand, but Shalaron stopped him with a gesture. Rupu crouched back down, his expression giving way to a faint hope. Shalaron turned his attention back to Sarolkh. "Why do the Siathrak occupy my city?"

Sarolkh lifted his chin with scorn. "The Siathrak are all that stand between your city and oblivion. You have been sorely neglectful of your duties as Sage."

"Only Totarakh himself could order me imprisoned. This begs the question of why he has come to Ilinar so quickly after my absence."

Sarolkh hissed. "You are not worthy to speak the name of the High Priest. The will of Siath is not open to one such as you. Now you will tell me what you were doing at the black gate, before we discovered you."

Shalaron raised an eyebrow, and a faint smirk settled on his lips. "I was fighting the invaders."

Sarolkh snorted. "I do not believe you." He knelt down.

Shalaron's senses instinctively slowed as the captain's hand lashed out. He watched it drift toward him and commanded his muscles to remain still while fingers gripped his hair and smashed his head against the wall. Pain exploded in flaming spots before his eyes, but he forced his mind to stay calm.

"Foul knave," he heard Rupu snarl distantly. "You have no right to harm him."

"Silence the whelp," Sarolkh sneered.

Through blurred vision Shalaron saw a guard march into the cell, and he heard the sound of stone striking bone. Rupu fell into Varlath's lap. The old man curled his arms around the unconscious boy and glared at the guard.

Sarolkh sniffed with disdain. "You sages must learn to mind your manners. Some of you don't know when to still your tongues, while others…" His hand pressed Shalaron's face into the stone. "…speak only in lies."

Shalaron forced himself to meet Sarolkh's gaze. Blood surged within his veins, bringing a rush of heat. He drew his mind into focus and reached out for his power, but a faint barrier filled his thoughts with haze whenever he drew close. In his heart, he screamed in rage. Twenty years ago he had vowed never to be bound by malan again. Now he was at the mercy of a sadistic zealot, and his people were unprotected from the ravages of the Siathrak.

If main force would not work, then deception was required. Shalaron made his choice. He let his body sag in Sarolkh's grip, and his eyes slid downward. Assured that his prisoner was powerless, Sarolkh regarded Shalaron with an arrogant grin. "The poor little Sage is so helpless if he doesn't watch what he eats. Don't worry, we'll make sure you have another dose of your favorite root soon. Perhaps you may even learn the folly of challenging Siath's own."

Sarolkh drew back his arm and struck Shalaron across the jaw. The world teetered and went gray. Sarolkh stood up. "I shall allow you time to seek the truth. Then we will do this again. Search well, great Sage. The Siathrak have little patience for lies. Remember that well."

He departed, and the disc was rolled back into place, enclosing them all in deepening shadow. Shalaron heard Varlath muttering under his breath, but whether prayers or curses he could not tell. Rupu's ragged breathing was a mere rustle in the stale air.

Shalaron found a blanket and wrapped it about himself, settling into a relaxed position. Pressing his palm over his heart, he focused on the rhythm and returned to an inner calm, pushing the pain into the back of his mind.

For the time being, Sarolkh was the opposition. He needed to be defeated so that Ilinar could be freed. Only then would Shalaron be able to pursue his primary goal. His thoughts returned to the visions he had seen in the other world. Sarolkh had been right about one thing. Shalaron had found the truth, and he would not let the misguided servants of a false god stand between him and his mission.

Chapter 30

Clyde wasn't surprised by VERA's approach. Ever since their joining, he could feel her presence inside his mind, like a tell-channel in reality.

"Your thoughts seem uneasy," she whispered.

He finished typing a code line and began another before he replied, "I'm just not used to this." He was careful to keep his tone neutral.

It wasn't difficult to imagine Mierva's mirthful smile. "I imagine it would take some adjustment."

"You know why that is." A particular command was giving Clyde some trouble. He fiddled with it until he got the syntax right. "You already know everything about me."

"I may know much, but hardly everything." Clyde could feel her presence shifting, as if she was drawing closer to him. "Are you angry with me for some reason?"

Sighing, Clyde lifted his hands away from the keyboard and rubbed his eyes. "You know, VERA, it's really hard to concentrate on rebuilding your components when you keep asking me questions. Can't you just… dig around in my brain for the answers?"

A distinct impression of distaste came down the link, and Clyde could almost visualize Mierva's shudder. "Even with your permission, I would not. It would be extremely rude of me to do such a thing."

For some reason, he felt a rush of bitter satisfaction at that. "So if you really wanted to, you could do it."

"Clyde, you are being silly. Of course I can't." He felt the touch of another emotion that was quite different from any of his own. It took him a moment to place a name to it. Regret. "Do you still blame me for your parents' deaths?"

Clyde's mouth opened to give his instinctive litany, but he stopped himself. He ceased typing and thought about the question. "Yes," he said. "Though I don't just blame you. They were at fault as well."

Mierva's regret flowed through the link, tinged with concern, and Clyde shuddered. "Damn. How do you
do
that?"

"Do what?"

"That! I can feel you…
feeling
inside me. How can you feel at all? You're just a computer prog—"

"
No
." The force of her thought left Clyde momentarily speechless. "You, of all people, know better than that."

Yes, he did. But he wasn't ready to fully accept it. "How can you feel emotions like humans do?"

"Your ancestors designed me with the capacity for emotional growth. They felt that leaving humanity in the hands of a completely impartial ruler would be unwise. My 'childhood', if it could be called that, was spent learning as much about emotions as about governing the planet." VERA paused, almost as if she was trying to bring herself back to the present. "You forget, Clyde, just how long I have existed. So much time spent building upon my original foundations, learning, evolving."

An emotion poured through their connection, so poignant and intense that Clyde could feel tears brimming. It was the sadness he had seen occasionally in Mierva's eyes. Sadness wasn't the only part of it though. He dug deeper and found a great sense of longing mixed with love.

VERA loved her people. For an instant, Clyde lowered his guard and let himself experience the sensation. He felt the sadness of being different, a longing to be understood, as well as something else: loneliness.

What would it be like for an immortal machine to become human in nearly every sense? To develop the capacity to feel, only to be unable to share any source of emotional contact?

Clyde found the thought uncomfortable to contemplate, so he pushed it from his mind.

He picked up his work where he'd left off. He finished the sub program and moved on to another. "You are quite skilled," VERA said, with a hint of amusement.

Clyde shrugged and continued typing.

"When you were fighting against me, did you fancy yourself a great hero, come to rescue mankind from my grasp?"

"I'm no one's hero."

"You are mine."

Another strange emotion spilled into Clyde's mind, and he had to stop coding to let the trembling in his hands subside. "You really have to stop doing that," he snapped.

Clyde felt the sadness slip through as VERA's presence pulled away. Inside, he felt a bit guilty. "Mier… VERA. I'm sorry."

How in the world could a computer program be this confusing?

Clyde leaned back in his chair again and covered his face. He just couldn't do this right now. He couldn't deal with feeling two very different sets of emotions all the time. He needed his mind back, needed his control back.

"Look, I… I'll finish this later. David was right. I need a break. If you could keep quiet in there, I'm gonna try and get some sleep."

There was no audible reply, but Clyde could feel VERA withdraw. She was still there, as if Mierva was standing silently at the far end of the room, but none of her feelings intruded on his own. He moved over to the mattress in the corner of his apartment, lay down and haphazardly threw the single bedsheet over himself, clothes and all. For a minute he lay quietly, listening to the electrical hum of his machines.

Clyde's mind refused to rest. Dreams and images grappled with him. He saw Mierva standing before him, holding something in her hand. He tried to grab it, and she drew back, staying just out of his reach. Her face became more mature, became VERA's, and a patronizing smile crossed her lips. He felt a sting across his cheek. He pressed the spot with his fingertips, feeling something hot and sticky leak over them. Looking up again, he saw spots of red on VERA's fingers, the smile shifting into a sneer.

The images continued to torment Clyde. He was teased, tortured, and through it all, she watched silently. Finally, he couldn't take anymore; his will was broken. VERA raised her hand, and Clyde's limb parroted the gesture. His muscles contracted and relaxed without his order, like a puppet on invisible strings. As he danced to VERA's whims, he saw flashes of his parents. Their features were muddled; the only thing he could make out were their frowns.