Cold Reception -- Part Three

Dahl sat at a computer terminal in her office at the center of the Labs, beneath the northwestern continent of the artificial planet. In her right hand she held a writing stylus that she chewed on whenever she became nervous. Her left hand flew over the terminal's computer keyboard, entering a slew of commands which logged Dahl on to Daughter's datanet communication system. Another flourish of button pressing followed, and Dahl found herself connected to Zelan.

"Hello," said a male android who had just appeared on the screen. He was similar to Wren in appearance, but he had a thinner face and lighter hair. Also, the chrome plates on his body were tinted gold, as opposed to Wren's silver.

"My name is Warren, and you have reached Zelan station," the android said. "How may I help you?"

"This is Dahlia Mallos, Director of Palm II," Dahl said. For emphasis, she flicked one of her ears and said, "One of the Numans. I need to speak with Master Wren. It's very important."

"I am sorry, Director, but Master Wren is hard at work on a new project. He has left strict instructions that he is not to be disturbed unless there is an emergency." The android paused and then asked, "Is this an emergency?"

Dahl sighed. "No. No, it isn't. Look, can you at least put me through to Demi?"

"Certainly," Warren said. "Have a pleasant day."

Warren's face disappeared and was replaced by that of Demi. Always one to be bright and cheerful, Demi beamed when she saw Dahl and said, "Oh, Dahl! What a nice surprise!" But then Demi saw the troubled look on Dahl's face and became concerned. The young Director looked utterly spent. "Oh, goodness, Dahl. What in Algo is the matter?"

"I need to talk to Wren, Demi," Dahl said. "I have...questions."

"Questions?"

"Yeah. I want to know where I come from. Really."

Demi laughed. She gave Dahl a funny look and asked, "What do you mean, Dahl? You know where you come from. You were born by replicating the same DNA that has been used to create all of the Numans."

"Born?" Dahl asked, sarcasm heavy in her voice.

"What?"

"Nothing. Look, I know what other...things the DNA has been used in. What I'm asking you is where did the DNA come from?"

"Well, the DNA was taken from Rika Ashley, the Numan who accompanied Wren, myself, and our friends on the campaign against the Profound Darkness two thousand years ago. Goodness, has it really been two thousand years?"

Dahl nodded. "Yes, Demi, I know all that. But where did Rika get her DNA?"

Demi blinked. "Well, Rika told me that her genetic structure was based upon that of a Numan-like prototype that existed prior to the Great Collapse."

Dahl sat up. She was finally getting somewhere. It had been a stroke of luck that obstinate Wren was otherwise occupied. Demi, apparently, was far more willing to talk. Perhaps it was because she, having the ability to feel, could actually sympathize with Dahl's curiosity. Why had Dahl not asked her before? Maybe she simply had not had the courage to ask. Maybe it was easier for her to think of herself as an anomaly, not a part of an endless chain with a difficult legacy and a vital future totally dependent on her own actions.

"How did Rika know that?" Dahl asked. "The Great Collapse happened so long ago. Even way back then it was ancient history."

"Rika learned about this prototype from Seed, the computer that created her," Demi said.

"What do we know about that prototype?" Dahl asked. "I mean, who was she, or he?"

"We know it was a she," Demi said. She was not looking at Dahl anymore. She had become submerged in her own countless recollections. "Yes, we know it was a she because Rika was an exact copy of the prototype, except with a few genetic improvements. But other than that...we know nothing. Why do you ask, Dahl? Just a natural interest in your 'family origins?'"

"I suppose so, Demi," Dahl said. "I want to know who I am."

"What do you mean? You know who you are!"

"My genetic structure is mostly Palman but with some animal traits thrown in. What I want to know is who the Palman DNA in me originally belonged to."

Demi was still for a moment. She had honestly never considered the mystery before. "It's an interesting question," she said. "I...I suppose it could have been anybody. I don't see how we can ever find out. I mean, Wren wouldn't know something like that. The prototype was constructed some years before Wren was. And Wren never had any experience with genetic engineering until after the Collapse, when he encountered Seed while running diagnostics on the surviving planetological systems."

"Wren told me that, while he was working with Seed, Seed sent back-ups of his files to Zelan for safe keeping."

"That's right," Demi said. "That was before Rika was even created. It was from those 'blueprints' that Wren learned how to go about making the Numans. Yes, Seed was always very protective of his research and his creation. In fact, he once risked the safety of Motavia itself just to be certain that Rika herself was placed in no danger."

"Yeah. So I'm thinking that mightn't those old files contain some data about the prototype, and whose Palman DNA she was made from? I mean, if Seed knew so much..."

Demi's eyes went wide and she began nodding, a grin breaking out on her face. "Oh, yes! That's very good! I can't be certain that the files will tell us anything we don't already know, but if there is anything new to be learned, those files will be the place to start looking."

"Thank you so much, Demi," Dahl said, smiling for the first time. "That is just what I wanted to hear!"

"I suppose this was the reason you called," Demi said. With a wink she added, "I should know better than to think you just want to talk or something..."

"Oh Demi," Dahl said warmly. "If you were here I'd kiss you!"

Demi smiled.

"Now put me through to Wren, please," Dahl whispered urgently. "The suspense is absolutely killing me!"

Tirotul was in a state of utter confusion. When he came to a few hours after the attack, he found he could not speak or move. He had only been stabbed in the shoulder, but Tirotul wondered if some catastrophic damage had somehow been done to him.

Each time his eyes opened, Tirotul saw Bartholomew hovering above, diligently monitoring his condition. He replaced bandages and applied balm and disinfectant while Tirotul slept.

Belthasar was nearby. Tirotul could not see him, but he could feel the giant robot's presence and hear him shuffling about. The poor creature was probably as antsy as he had ever been in all his days. It was the first time since he had stepped off the assembly line that Belthasar did not have any vital function to perform.

Try as he might, Tirotul could not place Betty.

But despite his injury and the terrifying blur which had followed the attack, all Tirotul dwelled on, both in waking thought and in dreams, was the creature and its sudden re-animation. The body Tirotul and his helpers had pulled from the ice was clearly, indisputably dead. It was just a shell. All of the soft tissue that should have been on the inside had rotted away centuries ago. How could a shell, just a hollow mass of bone, possibly have a life in its own right?

Tirotul remembered that the creature had actually spoken. Yes, it had said something that sounded like a phrase in Dezorian, but different. If the creature was thousands of years old, like Tirotul suspected, perhaps the being had spoken a dialect of Dezorian that had long since died out. It seemed plausible; at least it was more plausible than what had already been shown to be true.

In his mind, Tirotul saw the empty holes where the creature's eyes should have been. Though empty, Tirotul had felt like that blackness had stared as deeply into his soul as any eye ever had. It filled him with a fear that seeped all the way down into the very pit of his soul.

Tirotul's body suddenly heaved. He coughed, and dark maroon blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.

"Betty, something is the matter with Dr. Urbanich," Belthasar said, moving over to stand beside Bartholomew.

Betty, who was at the time using her one small arm-like appendage to manipulate a much larger construction arm, turned her attention away from her work and focused her gaze on Tirotul. "What is the matter?"

Betty wheeled over to Tirotul's side and inspected the sore. It was solid black. Some dark puss was leaking from it. The skin around the sore was wrinkled. It looked diseased. It reminded Betty of something she had seen when she accompanied Tirotul to his grandfather's orchard on Palm II. A basket of gourds had been set on a table outside. The stem of one of the gourds had broken off. Though the gourd remained brightly-colored and smooth-skinned, the stem had shriveled up and turn a murky gray-brown color. And such was the state of the skin surrounding the horrible sore.

Over her shoulder, Betty heard Dark Force laugh.

She turned and faced her despotic new master. Dark Force was propped up on his real right arm, inspecting his new titanium left arm with a single discriminating electronic eye. "'Tis the effect of the Black Energy Wave on all mortal life," he said.

"The Black Energy Wave?" Betty asked, not moving from her place beside her friend.

"Yes. It is a magical force I give off. Anything I touch is tainted with it. It poisons the body; most victims of the Wave die quickly. For those who are able to survive... Well, I shall just say that their souls soon follow the same path as their bodies."

"How can I cure him?" Betty asked.

Dark Force chuckled softly. He ran his index finger down the new metal arm. Betty's handiwork must have been to his satisfaction, for he severed the wires connecting the new limb to the construction arm Betty had been using to create it.

"Thou cannot heal him," Dark Force said. "There art only two ways to spare one the suffering the Black Wave offers."

"What are they?" Betty asked, wheeling a little bit closer.

"First, thou may kill the afflicted. Of course, if thou does nothing, this will happen soon enough anyway."

Had she been a real Dezorian and not a robot, Betty would have sighed. "What of the other?"

Dark Force shook his new metal index finger at Betty. "Now, now. I shant speak of it that easily. Fashion me a new body, and we shalt see."

Betty was still for a moment, but then took up the construction arm again. "Very well. Belthasar, bring in more titanium sheets. I have a big job ahead of me."