Chapter Five
While Acion rejuvenated after their explosive second encounter, Thalina speculated on events outside the Hoard.
She’d abandoned her own plan, which meant that Ector would have summoned her father. She didn’t blame him for defying her order—when situations changed and the welfare of a member of the royal family might be at risk, the guards’ duty was clear.
Her father would have reviewed all available security recordings. She wished she’d said something aloud or even under her breath about the Seed, but maybe he’d look closely enough to notice her physical reaction and investigate further.
In fact, he must have done that, because no one had charged the doors.
Her father must have come down to the corridor and smelled the Seed himself. The scent would have been less powerful for him, and a little bit harder to detect, but if he’d known what he was seeking, Ouros would have found it. He had keen dragon senses, after all. Maybe he had even suspected the reason for her choice before investigating.
The fact that the Hoard hadn’t been opened yet meant that Ouros had decided to give Thalina some time to claim the Seed. She was glad that her father had some faith in her ability to defend herself, but wondered just how much time he would allow her.
Because no door in Incendium could be secured against the king.
Not even that of the Hoard.
Especially that of the Hoard.
“You are thinking,” Acion said quietly from beside her.
Thalina turned to him with a smile. “I thought you were rejuvenating.”
“I have the capability to multi-task.” He turned his head, and his bright gaze locked with hers. “Your pulse skipped. What do you fear?”
“Just gathering information?”
His gaze flicked, as if she’d surprised him. “Not simply that. I feel concern for you and your happiness.” He frowned and licked his lips, his eyes narrowing as he repeated the words. “I feel concern.”
“Isn’t that in your programming?”
“Not to my knowledge. My systems were enhanced for this mission, though, and the precise nature of the upgrade was not explained to me.” He lifted a brow. “It must be so to allow for ideal conditions during an experiment and no infection of bias.” He nodded slightly. “I feel.”
“Do you feel anything more than concern for me?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
Thalina laughed but Acion didn’t.
He frowned. “It is my understanding that females prefer to believe themselves and their welfare to be of import to their partners.”
Thalina propped her chin on her hand to watch him. “Don’t males?”
Acion’s gaze flicked. “Perhaps so, but my experience of intimacy with males, of either android or biological origin, is small to the point of nonexistence. As a result, I would be speculating upon their desires and doing so without any basis of reference.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“It would be in violation of my mandate. I am programmed to reason, not to speculate—or worse, to guess.” He seemed to shudder.
“But you’ve never before been programmed to feel.”
Their gazes locked and some force sizzled between them.
“No,” Acion admitted quietly.
“What’s it like?” Thalina asked.
“It is strangely consuming,” he acknowledged. “I am aware of you, as if you were a target to be tracked, yet my inclination is protective.” His features lit. “As if you were a treasure to be defended.” He frowned again. “And yet, I have a reluctance to interfere in your situation, if such interference would be undesirable to you.” His gaze met hers again. “I wish to ensure that you have your desires fulfilled. This feeling complicates decision-making significantly.”
“What if my desires are at the expense of your desires? Or your mandate?”
It was clear that this troubled Acion. His gaze flicked rapidly and Thalina knew he was seeking a reference in his databanks. The longer his search took, the more convinced she was that he wouldn’t find one.
“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, looking as surprised by that as anything so far.
“This is why biological organisms speculate,” Thalina said gently, inviting him to do so.
He considered her for a long moment, then rose to his feet. She watched him pace, and knew that he was sorting and re-sorting the information provided to him. It was so interesting to watch him learn. She wanted to teach him everything she knew and see how far his programming allowed him to emulate a biological organism.
Could she help him to become indistinguishable from a man?
Could she hide him in open sight? She wanted to keep him with her in Incendium. She wanted him with her when her conception was confirmed, and she wanted him beside her when their child was delivered. He was so reasonable and reliable. Thalina knew that Acion was already stealing her heart.
Could he become her HeartKeeper as well as the Carrier of the Seed?
Would there be time to find out?
Thalina thought about her father again and anxiety rippled through her. Acion’s presence on Incendium was a violation of Scintillon’s Law. He would be destroyed, with no opportunity for appeal. Could she plea on his behalf? Would she have the chance?
She had to find a way. Acion might be an android but he was far more than a machine. Scintillon had been dead for eons. His edict didn’t reflect current technology and Thalina was determined to challenge it.
She hoped she could do so before her father eliminated Acion. How much time did she have? She doubted her father would allow her an entire day and night. He’d just give her enough time to claim the Seed.
Which she’d done twice.
She glanced at the door, wondering how soon Ouros would appear.
Then she realized something. At least some of Acion’s neurons were biological. She’d seen as much herself. How much else of him was biological? The combination of his composition must be why he could be the Carrier of the Seed.
Was he a cyborg?
But then, why had he been surprised about his neurons?
Thalina sat up. Was Acion changing in her presence? Was his rejuvenation process replacing damaged parts with biological ones?
Was that even possible?
What had been the exact nature of the enhancement he’d undergone before coming to Incendium?
What if the nanobots he now carried were building a different kind of tissue to replace whatever was damaged?
“You have made a conclusion that surprised you,” Acion said, and she realized he was watching her. “Will you tell me of it?”
With her father likely to open the door at any moment, Thalina saw no reason to hold back. “What are the probabilities that your enhanced programming is turning you into a biological organism?”
“Zero.” Acion spread his hands. “I have too many mechanical parts. While my body is sheathed in a membrane of biological origin, the interior can’t be changed, much less undergo metamorphosis.”
“Are you sure?”
His eyes flicked as he ran his calculations again. “There is a one hundred per cent certainty of this.”
Thalina leaned closer. “What about those neurons?”
Acion frowned and fell silent.
In fact, he turned his back on Thalina and paced, a sign to her thinking that she was on to something.
“How much of you is biological?” she demanded.
“Less than ten per cent, although a more significant percentage of my construction emulates materials of biological origin. I can eat, for example, but the processing of food in my system bears little resemblance to that in yours.”
“Because the nutrients in food that my body needs are useless to yours.”
“Yes. Your body creates electrical charges with saline solutions and imbalances in such solutions between cells, for example, while similar functions in my system are triggered by actual electrical charges.”
“Then how do you rest and recharge? Don’t you need an electrical source?”
“Once androids did have such requirements, but the Hive was driven to free us from such restraints. I have a variety of systems that harvest energy wherever it can be found.” He ticked his fingers. “Sunlight is the most easily converted, although artificial light will also work. I have processors to convert wind into power as it moves across my skin, as well as the ancient mechanisms for simply appropriating electricity.” He opened two fingertips on his left hand, revealing two of the universal connections for electrical systems there. He tilted his head to regard her. “Why do you ask these questions?”
“What makes you think I have a reason?”
“My experience of you shows that you are rational and logical.” His words pleased Thalina enormously. “I calculate a high probability that you are collecting data in order to test a theory.”
“Or to solve a riddle,” she said. “I’m trying to figure out how you could be the Carrier of the Seed.”
Acion raised his brows. “I thought this was a deception on your part to seduce me and test your systems, but as my theory was incorrect, this conclusion must also be.” His eyes flicked. “It is irrational. Are you certain of my role?”
“Yes.”
He pursed his lips. “Could I have been designated as a receptacle and delivery mechanism of the Seed by the true Carrier?”
“Maybe.” Thalina thought about this. “But when you rejuvenated, didn’t you make more?”
“I made more, as you say, but am not certain it contained the Seed you seek.”
“I am.” Thalina folded her arms across her chest. “I can smell it.”
Acion nodded and paced again, and she liked that he trusted her conclusion even though he couldn’t verify it himself. “Have there ever been other Carriers who were not biological?”
“No.”
“You speak with great certitude, yet the population percentage of dragon shifters on Incendium indicate that there are not only a significant number of your kind currently living here, but that there have been far more in the past. How can you truly be certain of the nature of the partner of each and every one?” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “I would estimate the number of dragon shifters who have lived on Incendium to be in excess of three hundred individuals, and there are dragon shifters elsewhere in the galaxy as well.”
“But on Incendium, they can’t have mated with androids because of Scintillon’s Law.”
He was silent for a moment, searching. “I have no reference for this legal statute.”
“What?” Thalina was on her feet, furious on his behalf. “The Hive sent you to Incendium without telling you that androids are banned here?”
“Banned?” Acion’s eyes narrowed.
“And if found, terminated, neutralized, or destroyed immediately, with no appeal. That’s Scintillon’s Law.”
Acion ran a hand over his head, a sign of concern that Thalina had noticed earlier. “Excandesco,” he said quietly, his gaze locking upon her.
Thalina didn’t immediately understand. “My cousins rule there. Why?”
He lifted a finger. “You decreed one day and one night of seclusion for us, in order to claim the Seed. What will you do to me now that you possess it?”
“I’d like to stay with you.” She took a step closer to him. “I’d like you to stay with me.”
“That is not my mission.”
“Well, maybe your mission should change. Maybe you should choose to stay.”
“That would be a violation of my programming and my mandate. I am to complete my mission and return to Cumae immediately. I have rented a Starpod to ensure my swift return to the starport where I will find passage to Cumae.” Acion considered the door. “But the probability of my success is vastly diminished, given this new information about Incendium’s law.” He fixed her with a look. “If androids are banned, then why aren’t reference volumes about them also banned? You have several and are familiar with their contents.”
Thalina blushed. “My sister, Anguissa, got them for me.”
“How?”
Thalina sighed. “Well, she was always a good negotiator, so when she came of age, she joined a trading mission. I don’t think she’s been home for more than a few days in a row since.”
“And how old is this sister?”
“Don’t you know?”
He grimaced. “My brief is incomplete.”
“Anguissa is younger than me but not by much. She’s been roving the galaxy for over three hundred years. We tend to think she can find and acquire anything.”
“A most useful individual to know.” Acion seemed thoughtful, and Thalina was pretty sure she knew why.
“Do you think the Hive knew about Scintillon’s Law?” she asked gently.
“The Hive knows all,” Acion said without hesitation. “My fate is clear.”
“I’m going to talk to my father…”
Acion shook his head. “Perhaps you will not be directly responsible for my demise. But when those doors open, I will be destroyed.” His tone was flat but she felt a desolation in him.
“Not necessarily,” she protested.
“Do not pursue irrational conclusions now. Your clear thinking is much of what I admire about you. Probabilities are very high that plans are being laid now.” He cast a glance at her, a small smile curving his lips. “And yet, there is a benefit to be gained in this conclusion.”
“How so?”
“I understand your impulse as I did not before. I am surprised to acknowledge that I would rather try to fly and fail, to have that experience of vitality, than to simply face my destruction.” He licked his lips. “I would have liked to have known what it felt like to take a chance.”
Thalina’s heart clenched and she found it hard to take a breath.
He tilted his head to regard her again. “Are you certain about the Seed?” he asked quietly. When she nodded, he continued. “And that it will bear fruit?”
“That’s the point of the Seed. That’s why its scent calls to us.”
“How curious it would be to father a child,” Acion mused. “I should have liked to have had that experience, as well.”
Somehow she had to wring a legacy from her time with Acion, a greater legacy even than having his child. The fact that Acion could feel and that he had concern for her desires mitigated her own fear that he would be obliged to report anything he learned to the Hive. He might not even have the opportunity to make that report.
It was highly improbable that there would be another android on Incendium anytime soon. Thalina had to take advantage of the opportunity, even though it wasn’t perfect.
“Help me,” she invited, wanting to take the desolation from his expression.
“Help you? In what way?”
“There’s a riddle I can’t solve. Maybe you can.” She took a breath. “Maybe you can help me to understand something.” She smiled. “I’d like to have a story about you to tell our child.”
He blinked. “There it is again,” he murmured, as if she wasn’t supposed to hear.
Thalina did though. “What?”
Acion raised a hand to his chest. “A new experience I have found in your presence. I yearn, even though I know my desire will never be.”
Oh! His words and his acceptance of this brought tears to Thalina’s eyes and fed her resolve to somehow change her father’s mind. She got up with purpose, dressed and went to the vast wall of storage cabinets. She felt Acion watching her but he couldn’t memorize this code.
The lock was keyed to her DNA and her voice, and so finely tuned that it could detect any stress beneath an involuntary utterance.
She placed her hand on the panel and felt the prick on her palm.
“Scintillon,” she murmured, her voice low and soft.
There was a delay, a moment long enough for Thalina to doubt the result, a pause long enough for Acion to come to stand behind her. She noticed that he had his hand on his belt and she was aware the quickening of his defenses.
Then the panel slid open and she smiled at his gasp of surprise.
There was something very satisfying about challenging Acion’s conclusions and projections, as carefully tabulated as they were.
* * *
Who or what was Scintillon? Acion had no reference for that word, which only increased his irritation with the inadequacy of his brief. How could the Hive have omitted to inform him of the risk to his own survival on Incendium?
How could the Hive have been so irresponsible?
The Hive was not irresponsible and Acion knew it. This law must be part of a greater plan. Was it the Hive’s intent to test these enhancements then eliminate the android in question? Would Acion’s success in adapting to whatever changes were made in his system determine the chance of his survival? Acion found it inconvenient that his strength was diminished and he feared that these newfound feelings would undermine his decision-making processes. He thought of Arista’s murder and how he had doubted when he heard of it that she could be so surprised by an attacker.
Had the Hive planned her demise? Or allowed it? Had Arista been instructed to allow it? Acion remembered passing her that last time he had entered the Hive. He had been allowed to see her there because the Hive had wanted him to know that she was an android, too. It was also probable that there was a connection between her report and his assignment. Perhaps she had tested the enhancements first.
And when he’d been released from the process of gaining his enhancements, Arista had been known to be dead.
Or eliminated.
Acion calculated the probability of his own future following a similar path to be in excess of eighty-six per cent, given the new data offered by Thalina. Once he would have repeated that he existed to serve, but on this day, he felt a dull glow of rage. He had been used and even though that was his purpose, he resented it.
He wanted to rebel against the scheme of the Hive, which was so treasonous and unexpected that he refused to consider it. On one hand, he had to admit that these feelings compromised the fulfillment of his assignment. On the other, he already couldn’t conceive of being without them—or sacrificing them.
Oh, he yearned for far more than was his due.
He wanted a future.
With Thalina.
Acion forced himself to dismiss these impulses. Instead he watched Thalina, intrigued by what else she might show or tell him. He wanted to savor every second in her presence.
He saw the drop of her blood on the panel when she lifted her hand away and watched the panel absorb it, as if it were made of some substance other than the metal it appeared to be.
The notion was fleeting, because the panel folded back. It kept folding, rolling away behind itself until an entire chamber was revealed. Thalina stepped into it with a confidence Acion did not share. It could be a trap. Well aware that his moments were limited, he was determined to defend every last one of them for as long as possible.
He followed her warily, surveying the numbered panels which were clearly doors to repositories. His survey revealed that there were eighty-one of them, ranging in size from that of the dice for gambling on Xanto to several large enough to contain men taller than himself. Acion felt the skin tingle on the back of his neck and turned in place to gather more detail.
It was clear that Thalina was familiar with this place. She counted the row of the smallest panels, then tapped the seventh one. It opened to reveal a small silver ball, about the size of his thumbnail.
Acion stared. The probabilities were extremely high—in excess of ninety-nine per cent—that it was a Cumaen memoria.
But what was it doing here?
“You know what it is,” Thalina said without surprise. Clearly, she’d learned to read his expressions. “I thought you might.”
“It is a memoria, a recording device made on Cumae, or at least, it very strongly resembles one.”
“I knew it!” Thalina said with satisfaction. She waved it at him. “This holds the key to everything. It has to.”
“But how could you formulate such a conclusion?”
She smiled, that confident smile making his chest tighten in a new and not entirely unpleasant way. There was much to admire about this dragon princess. “What do you think the Hoard is?”
“A safe room. A place of refuge and final defense. A treasury.”
Her eyes sparkled. “But what is the treasure?”
Acion surveyed the numerous panels. “Gems? Precious metals? Rare materials?”
Thalina laughed. “Yes, but that’s not the heart of the Hoard.” She watched him, eyes sparkling in a way that distracted him from their conversation, then leaned closer. “Knowledge is the real prize,” she whispered. “The greatest valuable in the universe.”
She left the chamber then, and Acion followed her. “It is not typical of biological organisms to value knowledge above all else,” he was compelled to note. “And dragons are said to be particularly fond of physical wealth.”
“Which just proves that you can’t believe everything you hear.” She cast a teasing glance his way. “Or give credit to rumor in your calculations.” Before he could agree, she held out her hand, the memoria on her palm. “Do you know how to make it work?”
Acion saw no reason to disguise the truth. “Memoria are typically used by the Warrior Maidens of Cumae, to leave information for those who follow, in case their mission fails and must be completed by another.”
“They don’t just report to the Hive?”
“The vast majority of Warrior Maidens are not androids.”
“But some are. Interesting.” He was startled that she made the inference so quickly and realized he shouldn’t have revealed as much information. She brandished the memoria. “How is it activated?”
“Warrior Maidens train together and choose a companion from the ranks of their fellows called a Sword Sister. A Sword Sister is obliged to finish any incomplete missions of her partner, and so in the vast majority of cases, the memoria’s action is triggered by the voice of the Sword Sister uttering a word known as the code by only those two persons.”
Thalina considered the small silver ball. “I think this belonged to my forebear, the dragon shifter who founded the line of kings of Incendium.”
“Scintillon,” Acion guessed.
Thalina nodded. “My father is the seventh son to reign as king, a direct lineage from Scintillon. Father to son to son, etc.”
“Which would make Scintillon your great-great-great-great-great grandfather.”
She smiled. “Exactly.” She took the memoria between finger and thumb. “He was reputed to be brilliant and mechanically inclined. He built clocks and automatons. I could like him, but he was the one who made androids illegal on Incendium.”
“Scintillon’s Law,” he guessed and she nodded. Acion was puzzled. “But why? Such a man would be most likely to discern our usefulness.”
“Exactly,” Thalina said, waving the memoria at him. “I could never solve that riddle. What if the answer is in here?”
“It is possible, maybe even probable, but as a king, he would have no Sword Sister.”
“Maybe not technically. You say a Sword Sister finishes what her partner can’t. What else does she do?”
“Sword Sisters defend each others’ blind spots. Indeed, they often fight back-to-back.”
“Fructa,” Thalina said and strode to another panel in the wall of the chamber. Again, she laid her hand upon it, but this time, the panel opened to reveal a single smaller repository. A small chip reposed within that space.
“Fructa?” Acion asked. He must complain to the Hive that his brief was sorely deficient for this mission. Even if that had been intended to be part of his test, he believed that he was compelled to respond at a much lower performance level than gave him pride.
“His wife. Mother of his sons.”
“She defended his back?”
“Time and again. Incendium was often attacked in its early days as a kingdom. The forebears of the Regalians battled my forebears for control of the planet and, thanks to their deceptive and violent inclinations, were ultimately exiled to a planet of their own.”
“But still within your system.”
“Where do you think the expression comes from to keep your friends close and your enemies closer? My ancestors wanted to keep an eye on the Regalians.”
That was a logical choice, in Acion’s view.
Thalina picked up the chip. “Scintillon died, after reigning for two hundred and six years. His third wife, who wasn’t a dragon shifter but was his HeartKeeper, ruled after him for another five Incendium years, finishing what he’d started and acting as regent.”
“I will speculate that their oldest son was not yet eighty-one Incendium years of age.”
Thalina smiled. “Good guess. She ensured Rubeo claimed the throne and that his brothers supported him, and then she died.”
“Because the task was completed.” Acion nodded. “There are strong similarities between these events and the traditions of Sword Sisters.”
“My thinking exactly. Let’s listen to Fructa, and see if the memoria likes her voice.”
Acion followed Thalina across the chamber to a portion of the wall that he had believed to be patterned. On closer inspection, the patterns revealed themselves to be portals and receptors. Thalina fitted the chip into the receptacle shaped to receive it and a woman’s voice emanated from the walls. Though she spoke the common tongue, her accent was heavier than that of the current inhabitants of Incendium and Acion had to adjust his filters to ensure he didn’t miss any detail.
“We are gathered for the saddest of occasions, to celebrate the life and mark the death of our exalted king and my beloved husband, Scintillon the Bold. There are many here today who will speak of his life and his accomplishments, his connections and influence both on Incendium and in the galaxy beyond. My story of Scintillon is rooted here, in Incendium’s main city and, even closer, in my own heart. Most of you know the more public part of our story, how I came to this palace first when my father, a knight in the service of the king, brought me to the palace to see my swordsmanship improved. I was disguised as a young man. Most of you know that I drew the king’s eye first in tournament, when I triumphed in battle and boldly declared the truth of my gender. Most of you know that these events immediately occurred before the last attack of the Regalians, which followed that tournament. I can’t explain to you the shock of that moment, the sensation of celebration shattered by an unprovoked attack. We were besieged when it was least expected and sorely beset. My father was cut down in defense of the king. I saw him fall and knew he wouldn’t move again. I was his only child, I held a blade, and so I stepped into the void to defend the king. My king. Scintillon and I fought back-to-back on that day, and the Regalians were narrowly defeated. That was the day they were exiled, catapulted to their own planet with no means of leaving it, close enough to watch yet sufficiently distant to pose no threat to Incendium. It was eighty-two years ago this year.” There was a pause. “It was the day that King Scintillon doffed his gloves, took my hand in his and invited me to celebrate our victory by becoming his wife. I was astonished but not so foolish as to decline. I knew nothing about the Seed in those days. I knew nothing about HeartKeepers. I knew I loved the king because he was my king, because I had been taught to love the king, because this king was good and fair and honorable. I had no notion of the happiness that would be mine, because I had bound my life to that of my HeartKeeper. Scintillon, so much older and wiser than me, knew exactly what he was doing and precisely the path he placed us upon. I thanked him for that gift every day that we were together.”
She cleared her throat, silencing the bit of applause. “But few of you know the challenges we faced privately, and I will tell you of one because it colors the future that we share together in the absence of Scintillon. I wish I had met Scintillon sooner. I wish he had died later. My desire is selfish because it makes me ache to be parted from him, his kindness, his passion, his absolute sense of justice, his ability to make me smile no matter the situation. But his passing has import for a matter of state as well. Our son and Scintillon’s legal heir, Rubeo, is seventy-nine years of age. He has not yet come of age according to the counting of his kind, which was his father’s kind, which means that I will act as regent for the next two years as he completes his preparation for his role as king and is readied for his coronation. I am proud of Rubeo and I know he will do his father’s memory credit, but the death of the father makes me recall the death of our first son, Torris.”
As she said the name of her lost son, the seam became more visible on the memoria. It didn’t open, but Acion reasoned chances were very good that this was the word that would release its secrets. He was glad he was recording the audio.
Fructa continued. “Our first son would have been eighty-two if he had survived the hatching of his natal egg. Ever since the morning that I held my lost son in my arms and feared that the future had been lost, I counted that as the darkest day of my life. Ever since the night that they finally took him from me and I wept from the depths of my soul, believing I had betrayed my husband’s hopes and my own, I have counted that as the darkest night of my life. But on that morning, I had Scintillon by my side, resolute and intent upon securing the future of Incendium. On that night, I had Scintillon holding me close, strong and determined to do all in his power to keep Incendium’s future bright. I had a spark in the darkness, the light that was my husband and his faith in the future, his conviction that justice and honor could only prevail. And so it did, even though my faith faltered when the days passed with no new conception. And so it did, because Scintillon would not surrender when he knew the greater good could be served. And so it did, when Rubeo broke free of his natal egg and gave a roar that was said to have been heard all around the planet of Incendium. We had three more sons, each stronger than the last, and Scintillon’s legacy was assured.”
The crowd applauded a little in the background.
“Today, I stand before you on what should be the darkest day of my life, for there will be no spark to light this darkness for me. The spark of my husband’s will still burns in my heart though. Its brightness will never fade, not so long as I draw breath, and this is his gift to me. He granted this gift of hope to me so that I could finish the work of ensuring his legacy. I will do whatever is necessary to see my son crowned King of Incendium in two years time. I will sacrifice whatever must be cast aside, be it a treaty or a truce, if Incendium is threatened in what might appear to others to be our moment of weakness. The fire of the first King of Incendium burns hot in my breast, and his love of justice will be defended as fiercely as if he stood beside me. Make no mistake, once again, Scintillon and I fight back-to-back to secure the future of Incendium.”
There was a roar of approval on the recording, as an enormous number of people cheered and hooted, clapped and stamped their feet. Acion heard several shout “Praise to Queen Fructa!” then the call was taken up by the crowd.
Thalina touched a finger to the console and the cheering was silenced.
Acion stepped past her and played the recording made on his own palm, accelerating through the speech until Fructa reached her dead son’s name. He amplified the output and placed his left hand over the memoria in Thalina’s hand, so it was closer to the speaker.
As if Fructa whispered to it.
At the word “Torris,” the device began to spin.
* * *
Thalina was shocked to see the small sphere spin of its own power, split in half and open. The beam of light emanating from its interior was also a surprise, but the quality of the hologram it projected was far better than she’d expected.
A king lounged on his throne before her, both existing only in the hologram. He had silver at his temples and in his beard, but still looked vital. She thought of warriors who aged but didn’t stop fighting and would have guessed that he was still fierce in battle. There were scars on his hands and one on his cheek, but she recognized the dragon in his eyes. She supposed there was a faint resemblance between his features and that of her father.
“Your forebear,” Acion said. “The bone structure of the face has correlations with yours.” He calculated and she looked at him. “Stronger with your father, perhaps due to gender differences.”
“Another king,” the king in the hologram mused, his voice a deep rumble that hinted of banked fires and glowing coals. Acion and Thalina watched and listened. “That can be the only reason I’ve been set loose again.” He smiled a little, as if amused by his own joke. “I hope there is another king, a long line of kings, an empire in Incendium, and a future filled with prosperity and good fortune.” He inclined his head. “I wish all of this for you, King of Incendium in future, and wish also that you are the fruit of my Seed. I like continuity because I understand the power of stability.”
He braced his elbow on the arm of his throne and propped his chin on his hand, surveying Thalina as if she truly did stand before him. She fought the urge to curtsey. Acion did bow. “And now, you, newly crowned king, are following the dictates laid before you, one of which is that you will watch me. That is a good sign for the future, in my view. I tend to prefer kings and emperors who follow the laws of their own domains. The edict that has led you to me is Scintillon’s Law, of course, for it is the cornerstone of my legacy. I don’t doubt that you would like to find a way to dismiss it or ignore it. Even in my time, androids have their appeal and I can only imagine that will increase. They can diminish labor. They can assume tasks that are risky for mortals. They can do our dirty work, and they can work longer and harder. They are economical beyond the initial cost of creation, often operate cheaply, and the cost of their construction can be mitigated with economies of scale.” Thalina saw Acion nod agreement with all of these arguments. “And yet, and yet, I have outlawed them forever in the kingdom I founded. My law is the foundation of the government in Incendium and it decrees that no android shall be tolerated on the planet of Incendium or its governed territories. It states absolutely that every single android that ever sets foot on Incendium must be destroyed, without delay or appeal or exception.”
Thalina saw Acion’s eyes narrow.
“Didn’t you know?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Not until you told me.”
“Didn’t you have a brief?”
“This detail was not included. The brief noted that androids were uncommon on Incendium. There is no mention of Scintillon’s Law.”
“So, did the Hive not know, or did the Hive decide to put you at risk?” she dared to ask.
Acion frowned and gestured to the hologram. He folded his arms across his chest, and she would have bet that he was feeling something new and unwelcome.
“Why?” Scintillon asked. “Why would a king of supposedly clear vision lay down such an edict and structure the law of his kingdom in such a way that it could never be challenged? You might think I did it out of ignorance or superstitious fear.” He laughed a little. “But that can only be because you don’t know me.” He confronted Thalina again and she straightened as if she was being interrogated. “I did it out of knowledge.”
“Knowledge?” Acion echoed, skepticism in his tone.
Scintillon rose to his feet regally and gestured to the walls of the Hoard. “I have left a legacy of information, although there is no telling how it is stored by your time. It includes extensive documentation of our own robotics laboratories here on Incendium. Yes! We built androids. They were of the most highly developed of their kind, so we kept their development secret. We wanted to know how much progress we could make in simulating the thought processes of organic creatures. We wanted to know how perfect an android we could create.”
Scintillon took a few steps, then turned back. “The answer is that we made an excellent one. We made the best androids ever known. They were so remarkable that even I—with my keen dragon senses—could not distinguish between a human warrior and an android one. The lead engineer himself could not distinguish the creatures of his manufacture and the naturally born warriors in our service. And this was all to be celebrated, until they began to think for themselves.”
Acion was very still.
“They exceeded their programming and in so doing, became impossible to control.”
Acion caught his breath. “Which undermined their usefulness,” he murmured.
Scintillon nodded as if in agreement, although he had to be nodding in agreement with his own argument. “There came a point, just a few years ago, when the androids ignored their assigned mandate and made their own choices. While this was a triumph, it was also a problem, because we had discovered no means of creating the equivalent of a moral code in an android.”
He held up three fingers, each adorned with a ring. “There were three incidents behind the development of this law.” Scintillon waved his first finger. “One android stood guard during the interrogation of a Regalian rebel and became convinced of the merit of the rebel’s cause. He slaughtered all of those in service to Incendium in that interrogation chamber, freed the rebel, helped him to escape, and joined the Regalian cause. They made great gains with his assistance, until he was incinerated by my two youngest sons.”
Scintillon held up his second finger. “We were assured that the mutation had been contained and that the programming responsible for it was removed from all others. You can guess already that this was wrong. The second witnessed the destruction of the first android, resolved that my sons had acted unjustly and attempted to assassinate one of them during the night several weeks later—despite having been reprogrammed. The malfunction could not be recalled and the lack of a moral code meant that the android’s vengeance could not be stopped. Again, the rogue android was incinerated and again, the engineering program came under scrutiny.”
The king paced. “They said they had resolved it. They said we were safe. It seemed as if all had been resolved, for the androids were gathered and sequestered beneath the laboratories. They were completely reprogrammed and tested repeatedly. The edict was to ensure their absolute reliability before releasing them again. Instead, they revolted, outwitting their developers and attacking Incendium from within. We hunted them down and incinerated them, every last one, in a battle more bloody than those of our early days. My two younger sons, the ones who had felled the first rebel, were among those lost in the carnage. When it was done, and Incendium was a pale shadow of what it had been, I created my law and ensured it would hold for the duration of Incendium.” He leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with intent. “There can be no negotiation. There can be no tolerance, because there can be no trust. Do not be so foolish as to try to undermine my law. It will cost you everything, far more than the crown, far more than the kingdom. My two sons are dead too soon, because I trusted where trust was not deserved.” Scintillon fixed them both with a lethal glare, one that showed the dragon ascendant in his eyes, then disappeared abruptly.
Thalina didn’t know what to say.
The memoria closed with a whirr and spun in her palm before stilling once again.