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A.R.Yngve

DARC AGES
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Chapter 22


They both slept badly. Shara had experienced some close shaves in her thirty-year life: knife-fights, arrests, attempts on her body. But somehow she had always managed to escape -- lashing out with her stiletto, darting into an alley, bribing an official, seducing someone important. This, however, was a hopeless situation: no one ever returned alive from the Wastelands.

Like all city-dwellers, Shara's childhood had been terrorized by horror stories about the desolate outback, the crumbling ruins where nomadic Lepers ruled -- and even weirder menaces created by the poisons of the Second Great War. The Lepers were never pictured -- the taboo was so powerful, one believed mere representations bred sickness. Still, the mythology about the deformed nomads on the vast Outside was large and thriving. Now, as Shara spent her last hours in relative safety, all her childhood legends came back in vivid dream images -- all the myths:

"The Lepers are the punishment of the Goddess for our sins."

"The sight of a Leper can cause a man to die of fear."

"If a Leper gives you the evil eye, something bad will happen to you."

"Lepers torture, kill, and eat healthy humans."

"If a Leper touches you, you will become a Leper yourself -- as will all your children, and your children's children."

"The Plague never leaves its victims."

"Only fire can kill the Plague and the Leper."

"The Lepers only live to hate and punish mankind."


Only one legend gave her a little comfort: "The Singing King will return and undo the sins of man."

Shara had her own personal reasons for not overly trusting that promise.



The second day after the battle dawned on the citadels of Damon City. And it could now be seen, that the gash in the outer wall was halfway rebuilt -- thanks to an enormous effort of the citizens, who worked with a frenzy that impressed even the Damon family. It did not visibly impress Azuch Fache, though -- he visited the building site in his wheelchair, urging on the tired volunteers and guildworkers.

"I saved Madrivalo with just two thousand men!" he thundered. "Lord Damon should expect no less of you!"

Meanwhile, the castle hangar had been sealed off by Lord Damon's human guards. Bor personally overlooked that Darc and Shara were escorted into a troop carrier and shackled to the cabin wall.

The transport vessel had been tanked during the night, and fitted with an expansion tank for long flights. Bor then instructed Surabot where to fly and drop the prisoners off -- a secret location, unknown to all but Bor and his most trusted mechanical servant. The heavy old robot accepted his orders with emotionless calm, and stepped up into the carrier. The guards closed the rear port and cleared the starting area together with their lord. Minutes later, the large carrier warmed up its engines, ignited them and floated on jet streams into the sky. Bor kept watching the receding vessel until it had disappeared from sight. Apart from the two prisoners and the robot pilot, the troop carrier went empty. No human would ever have to witness the two unfortunates being taken by the Lepers, or learn where to find them.



During the long flight, Darc talked to Surabot. It resulted in the sort of bizarre conversation he, by this time, had come to expect of a robot.

"Surabot, where are you taking us?"

The robot responded like a drill sergeant: "Destination secret, Sir Darc. Lord Damon's orders. I apologize, Sir Darc."

Darc waited a while, then tried a sneakier approach: "Surabot, my friend. Are you programmed not to hurt humans?"

"Yes, Sir Darc."

"And if you leave me and Shara in the Wastelands, will that not hurt us?"

"If I allow you to stay in Damon City, you will be executed by Lord Damon. If you are abandoned in the Wastelands, your chance of survival will be slightly higher... Sir Darc."

"Yes, of course. How stupid I am."

"Is that a question or a statement, Sir Darc?"

"It is irony -- ignore it. But how can you follow Lord Damon's orders so blindly, even if you know he will cause harm to other humans?"

"One human is as potentially harmful as another, Sir Darc. I interpret my programming from occasion to occasion."

"And what is your general interpretation... of the directive not to hurt humans?"

The machine seemed to hesitate –- its visorplate flickered slower, as if its brain was getting bogged down with calculating the reply.

"Just a moment... just a moment... I generally let humans do as they please, Sir Darc. If I wait long enough, there is a slight likelihood that the programming of humans will improve."

"And how long are you prepared to wait for that to happen?"

"Just a moment... I have been waiting for one hundred and forty-seven years so far. A robot has the chance to outlast all humans, Sir Darc."

Darc wasn't really certain whether these feudalistic robots were plain dumb, or just faked intelligence with excellent subtlety, or lived for the opportunity to piss off humans. Deep down, he suspected the last alternative.

Shara was too despondent to try anything during the entire journey; she half thought Fate was sending her to die, as a punishment for her sins.