Cold Reception -- Part Two

There was a hill crowned by an old tree near the Labs. Dahl liked to go there and think when her head needed clearing, usually first thing in the morning. She was leaning against the tree, watching the sun known as Algo come up over the eastern horizon of Palm II. She could hear the waves crashing on the beach which lay behind her at the bottom of the hill. The last stubborn stars of morning were twinkling out. Gray Dezo blinked and was gone. Green Mota hung in the sky until the sun had cleared the ground line, and then it, too, disappeared.

A few meters off, Dahl could hear the whirring sound of the transtube as Erol Grant rode up to the surface. Dahl smiled and waved when she saw him. Erol waved and smiled back and then walked up the hill, where he sat beside Dahl underneath their special tree.

"Morning," he said.

"Morning," she answered, patting his knee. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing," he said with a yawn. "I just wanted to come up and see you before all the craziness starts."

Dahl closed her eyes. "I think it's time you and I take that vacation we've been planning."

Erol laughed. "Sounds good. I love the work, of course, but I'm just...I'm exhausted."

"Me, too. Azur can handle things for a month or two while we're gone. Besides, she'll have Mium to help her."

"So...where would you like to go? We could...visit the temples of Dezo, or the white sand beaches of Mota..."

Dahl thought for a moment and then said, "I think I would like to get as far away from this place as possible. Much as I love it, and as beautiful as it is, I am just sick to death of Palm II. And skiing and swimming don't sound all that fun right now, either. Interacting with nature...ugh. It makes me think of all the palmaforming stuff that's totally taken over our lives."

"Well," Erol said with a smile, "it seems to me that the farthest thing from this summery land of milk and plastic would be...Zelan! So how does that sound, Dahl? Wouldn't it be fun to frolic through the cold metal corridors of Zelan? Much better than skiing or swimming any day, right?" Erol waited, expecting Dahl to punch him in the arm and tell him to quit acting so stupid. But instead, she seemed to actually be considering the idea. "Dahl...?"

"Erol."

"What?"

"I think our vacation will have to wait a little bit longer."

Erol was crestfallen. "What? But why?"

"What you said has got me thinking."

"About what?" Erol asked the question cautiously. Dahl's mood had suddenly shifted, and for the worse. She had slipped from a sort of bemused resignation into something far darker.

"About me. About who I am." She stood up. "I think I will go to Zelan."

"How did talking about where to spend our time off lead to this?"

"It wasn't that. It was when you mentioned Zelan. I've been meaning to talk to Wren for weeks now. I have a lot of questions that I never bothered to ask before. I was so angry at him that even my curiosity couldn't drive me to contact Wren. But now that things have simmered down a little... I've got to go." Dahl walked down the hill towards the transtube that led back to the Labs.

Erol stood and ran to catch up with her. "Dahl, you're acting strange," he said. "Are you okay?"

"Look, there's just something I've got to take care of," she said. "I can't be bothered with other things right now. This is too important."

"Oh great," Erol said, frowning profoundly. "Remind me to keep my stupid mouth shut! I came here to cheer you up, not send you on some moody crusade!"

Dahl stopped, turned around, and kissed Erol very lightly on the cheek. "You're so sweet," she said. "And as a matter of fact...I'd like you to come to Zelan with me."

Erol shook his head. "What? Why?"

Dahl stepped onto the transtube and motioned for Erol to stand beside her. "Let me talk to Wren now. I'll fill you in after lunch."

'Tis a long time to wait, six thousand years. And it was not merely six thousand years of idleness; nay, 'twas six thousand years of imprisonment. In the end, it was my own fault. The scream I unleashed when N'gan's accursed sword split my physical form in twain caused a landslide, and I was buried beneath the tons of rock and ice. In that state not only could I not rebuild my armies and destroy the ice planet, as my Dark lord had ordered me to, but I could not even move. Nor could I scream, for the rubble had garroted me, had filled my maligned body like water fills an ocean. In my mind I called out for my Dark master to help me. Alas, no aid came. Perhaps it was my punishment for such sudden and terrible failure.

Strange. I knew a kind of sweet vengeance as I felt my Dark master cry out and shrink away into nothingness. I thought the Profound Darkness' death would mean my own release, as well. I waited and waited for my existence to end. Eons, I seemed to wait. Nothing came. The confinement went on. And in that sickening, choking confinement I planned my revenge. Sixty centuries total I brooded, and even yet, I find myself unable to decide on a plan. What shalt I do next?

The small creature, the "robot," hath explained much to me. She spoke much about this thing called "technology," and how it hath replaced magic. She seems to think this is a good thing. I know not how the vermin of Algol hath fared, but it is clear to me that this non-magical power shalt be no match for my own magic. My magic was much lessened when my master fell, but it is still powerful by mortal standards. And as for this technology...I may very well be able to harness it for my own gains...

The small robot hath spoken of how the technology can repair my body. It can replace what I hast lost. She says a new arm, even legs, can be fashioned from the metal once used to forge swords and axe blades. But there is time for that later; first, she must fashion me an eye.

But what is the world I will look upon when next I see? Shalt any trace of what I remember remain in this alien time? For over two hundred generations I hast been locked away...

And even if Dezoris remains all but unchanged, what of it? All of my brethren, my master, my very dimension, all swallowed by the void. The war is long over, and the Light hath won.

So what be this nagging feeling I hold in the back of my mind, and in the depths of my very soul? I can sense a presence, a kindred spirit, lurks somewhere near. Yes, 'tis true! Another minion of the Darkness lurks somewhere in Algol still! Be it a Dark Force like myself? Methinks not. It is a minor being, whatever it is. A small thing, robbed of all power by a defeat from long ago, left alive only by chance and good luck. But still it exists, nonetheless. Perhaps I am not alone in the universe after all.

And perhaps the war is not as finished as I thought.

Dark Force was snapped from his reverie when the cold metal that had been placed over his right eye suddenly became much warmer.

"What hast thou done?" he asked Betty calmly.

"The damage done to the area around thy left eye was too severe for me to repair. The damage can be fixed, but only by equipment more sophisticated than what is at my disposal here." The robot made a series of clicking sounds and then asked, "What happened to thee?"

Dark Force shifted uncomfortably. "That is none of thy concern."

"Very well," Betty said. "In the meantime, I hast been able to modify a simple optic which shalt return thy sight to thee. Thou said thou canst feel the metal. This surrounds the eye socket. Over the concave area is the optic lens itself. It is connected by wire to what I hast identified as thy optic nerve. There is a possibility of failure, however. Thine internal mechanisms art unlike anything I hath ever seen before."

Dark Force shifted again. "Very well. When shalt I see, assuming the contraption works?"

"In just a moment..."

There was a sudden, sharp sting deep within the Dark Force's head. This was followed by a white flash -- the first visual stimuli the demon had known in millennia -- and then a sensation not unlike blinking away a stray eyelash. With each "blink," Dark Force's vision became clearer and brighter until, at last, Dark Force was no longer sightless.

The unholy creature sighed when it looked down at what remained of its body. It is sobering to know that one is no more than a head, arm, and shoulder.

"Canst thou see?" Betty asked.

"Yes," was the whispered reply.

With that, the small robot turned about and prepared to help her two companions with administering first aid to Tirotul.

"Wait!" Dark Force cried. His cold hand reached out and grasped cold metal.

Betty's eye swirled about. Her one eye looked deep into the eye she had just created, which glowed a deep red.

"Thou cannot leave me like this," Dark Force said. "Look at me! Fashion me a new arm, at least."

Betty stood still for a moment and considered the alternatives. She looked over to Belthasar and Bartholomew. Both of them had such low AI; they were scarcely more intelligent than a toaster. Yet it was the two of them, with their powerful tools but incompetent hands, who were left in charge of Tiro. This troubled Betty. Being a simple robot, she was not empathics-capable, meaning she could not truly feel. But she had been working with Tiro for such a long time that she had come to think of him as a friend. They shared a passion for their work. True, Betty only cared about the habits of the few creatures native to the sub-glacier region because she was programmed to, but was a man-made desire any less of a desire? It was for these reasons that Betty wished she herself could tend to Tiro, who remained unconscious, while Bartholomew and Belthasar troubled themselves with the strange creature's demands.

"Dr. Urbanich is hurt," Betty said to the monster. "My purpose is to aid him by any means necessary. My duties dost not end with completing calculations and organizing records."

"Look here, you," Dark Force whispered coldly. "Thou will construct my arm or I shalt finish with your friend what I hast started."

Betty stood still and said nothing.

"You say that thy mission is to help your friend. If that be true, do not cross me now."

Betty sent instructions to Bart and Bel over their private channel. "There. Follow those instructions precisely. I fear that Tiro's wound might become infected. It is fortunate that he did not lose more blood. I thank you both for your quick action."

"What will you do about the creature?" Belthasar asked.

"I do not know," Betty said. "We will humor him for now. I will send further instructions as events unfold."

"Understood," Belthasar said.

The private channel closed.

"Very well," Betty said aloud, moving back to the slab upon which Dark Force rested. "I shall begin right away."