Chapter 1

 

Neglos

 

It was late afternoon when I got the call. The message said, “Call me, Baxter 2000.” Like as if that meant anything to me. I hit the panel and barked the instructions. “Baxter 2000.”

“Please hold,” came the telavoice machine.

“Hi, this is Baxter can't take your call right now, leave us a message.”

“Get stuffed,” I growled and cancelled the connection. I threw myself into a chair and breathed out like a whale surfacing. Life was just not co-operating. It's difficult making a living as a journalist when no one will publish your work. Maybe this geezer Baxter wants my latest book, no one else does.

As I began to wallow deeper into the nether regions of self-pity some thoughtless person rang the door phone. “What?” I yelled smacking the button.

“It's Baxter. I'd like a word with you Mr. Lumsden.”

The door camera gives this distorted picture. Like as if I could recognize anyone with a nose the size of a toucan's beak. I slammed the buzzer. “Come up.”

In less than two minutes the door rang. I stood waiting and opened it. A short little man with a Gandhi outfit in pure synthetic silk stood grinning. “Hi, can I come in?”

“I'm not buying anything.” I stood aside and waved the stranger into my abode.

“I'm a PI,” he said offering his credentials. “They asked me to find you.”

“Did they?” I growled. “Take a seat and explain yourself. You've got one minute.”

He coughed politely, bobbed his head in salute and sat looking at me with a nervous expression. “Well. They want to employ you.”

I pulled a chair out and plopped my bum on it. “Who's they?”

He held up one finger almost like shushing me. “I'll get to that. First, are you the right guy?”

“I'm the same man I was yesterday.”

“Sure, can you speak Dation?”

I almost swallowed my tonsils. “Dation? Why?”

“Can you?”

“Sure. I've studied it.”

“Then you're the man.”

“So now we've established, I'm the man. Are you going to explain, or do I throw you out?”

He smiled that ear-to-ear Cheshire grin. “I've been instructed to find you and see to it that you contact the right people. It's secret, don't blab it around. You're needed for a special Federation Project. It pays like you wouldn't believe.”

My head began to buzz with the possibilities. Dation is the basic language of the planet Try-2. I was born there but left in a hurry when I was only three. I'd always wanted to go back, but never managed to round up enough funds. Both mom and dad died there. In case you didn't know Try-2 is a forbidden planet. Highly restricted, and guarded. “All right what's the guff?” I growled.

Baxter grinned. “So you're interested?”

“So far, sure.”

He pulled an envelope out of his inner pocket. “The details are inside. I must reinforce, keep stum. It's a secret. The Feds don't want no broadcasting. You got it?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

I opened the letter, it was short and to the point. Basically it said I would be well compensated if I could make contact with a Professor Ignatius Stronghourn of the UFC. Fortunately the UFC had an office building in town. Having nothing better to do, the following day I toddled along and walked into reception. “Hi,” I said to the blond bimbo-droid at the desk. “I'm looking for Prof Stronghourn.”

It smiled and said, “And your name, sir?”

“Lumsden, Claude Lumsden.”

“Ah,” it said trying to mimic a human response. “The professor is out at this minute. He is expecting you and will see you. Would you like to go up to his office?”

“Sure.”

The thing gave me a security badge and directions. His office was on the forty-eighth floor. Thank God for elevators. A corridor with direction on the walls presented itself as I stepped off the turbo-lift. 'Pr. I. Stronghourn #48947' and an arrow. 947 was surprisingly dingy, just a smelly stale gray cubical with a window hatch and two chairs. I banged on the hatch. It slid open and a real human girl smiled at me through the hole. “Mr. Lumsden?” she squeaked in a really thin mousy voice.

“Yeah.”

A click and a previously invisible door opened. I walked in. Man what a difference. I entered a plush room about five meters square. The blue almost knee deep carpet smelled like a summer rain as I ploughed through it. Blondie sat at her own desk by the hatch, which had closed again. In that awful squeaky voice she said, “The Professor won't be long. Please make yourself comfortable.”

“So where do I sit? On the floor?” I grouched.

No reply. She gave me that, 'are you some kind o' nut,' look and waved her hand over the control panel. Instantly a seat folded out of the nearest wall and I sat.

As I sat, the first thing I noticed was the pictures around the walls. They were shots of Trysonian robots. This was the second reference to the planet Try-2. I'd never actually seen one in action but I had seen them at the Neglos Museum when I was a kid. Until this day I'd never even thought of them.

Sweetie smiled and coughed. “You can go in now sir.” Another invisible door opened. I walked through and into a well appointed modern office. A guy of about 40 odd sat at a synthetic oak desk. Models of Trysonian machines littered the top surface. A single chair had been placed prominently before the desk.

“Sit,” he growled as though annoyed to see me.

“I don't have to be here,” I replied.

“I'm sorry. I've just had a rather nasty encounter with the director of planetary services. Please take a seat. I am Professor Stronghourn, and you must be Claudius Lumsden.”

“I prefer Claude.”

“Very well Claude.” He stretched and leaned back in his comfortable chair. “Do you know why you are here?”

“Is that a catch question?”

He smiled. “Well do you?”

I shrugged. “No.”

His beady eyes burrowed into my head as he gently scratched his left ear. “The feds intend to destroy the entire Torbran system right across the face of the planet. No more Trysonian robots, no Torbran at all. But you see there are answers yet to be revealed. Do you know what an akrinar is?”

“Sure, it's the so called unthinking brain. It runs the autonomic operation of the Torbran.”

The Professor laughed. “Forgive my levity. The so called experts have a complete set of Torbran disks and as yet they haven't been able to decipher the complex interlace, never mind the code or the instruction. Eugene Delmont supposedly rewrote a disk for the Torbran years ago. According to you that is.”

“Yeah, it's true. But he had the aid of the education machine and a living Torbran. They needed to become modifiable. Delmont tried to help but he did destroy them.”

Stronghourn slammed the desk with his fist making me jump. “Right,” he said raising his voice. Excitement gleamed in his eyes. He opened the desk and pulled out an old-fashioned folder and opened it. “The akrinar is more than just an unthinking brain. Have you ever sampled any of that so called instant 'C' food?”

“Yeah”

“You know how it's made?”

“Not really.”

“A filthy guck containing all the ingredients is fed into a nano reactor. The guck is atomically manipulated into food, any type and temperature. It's called a nano-breeder. The breeder is programmed and can produce a variety of good looking bland foods. The akrinar is the same type of thing. Did you really think a clumsy metal fingered robot could actually manufacture more robots?”

I shrugged.

“The akrinar has a demoleculizer. It strips any material into an atomic-slurry, a nondescript material that is pumped through a huge network to breeder stations. Somehow the akrinar can examine anything and create a program to reproduce it. The cantor's job is merely to assemble the components. Any part of a Torbran can be manufactured by atomic manipulation. It's a science we are only now beginning to understand.”

“Is that how they repaired people at Arlonon?”

He smiled. “Excellent. Yes. I'm surprised someone didn't realize it before. Arlon obviously was able to rebuild people, while the Torbran could create the miraculous materials it needed. Koronium, which still defies analysis.”

“So why didn't they make esnebs?”

“They did, but alas like life, they could make the shell but not a working model.”

“I don't understand that.”

“Not to worry,” he said encouragingly. “We want you to come with us to Arlonon. I have permission. I have an expedition. We will go to the ancient university and extract the secret of the akrinar from the education system.”

This time I smiled. “It's been destroyed. Even if we could get in, there's only ash and ruin.”

“You know better than that Mr. Lumsden. Will you come with us?”

“I'm not a technician and computers are totally alien to me. I've written about Torbran and Torbral but. well really I know nothing. What use would I be to you?”

“You can read and write Dation. You've organized expeditions. You are an expert in archaeology. You were born there on Try-2. Do I have to continue?”

“All right. I can't give you an answer right now. When do you need my answer?”

“You have seven days.”

 

And seven days it was. I chewed the proposal over and over. Barely a moment went by without me pondering the idea of returning to Try-2. Somehow that place scared me, the thought of going to the very zone where both my mother and father died put ice in my veins. In one way I wanted to go, but on the other hand a burning in my heart said, NO.

The door sang out for attention. I looked up. “Oh, man, it's Baxter again.” I let him in the main door and quickly began tidying up. He really wasn't the person I needed to see. Now I would have to make a decision. He really is a grubby little man of little import.

He sat on my settee and grinned up at me. “Well, time's up. I got some shit fer yah to sign.”

“I'm not going. You can go tell your boss, thanks but no thanks.”

“He ain't gonna like it. Still.” He stood up and pulled an envelope out of his inner pocket. “I guess yous better read this.”

“No.”

He opened it and began reading. “Dear Mr. Lumsden, I'm sorry you have decided not to join us.”

“I don't want to hear it.”

He continued anyway. “I feel it is important that the people of Try-2 do not loose their heritage. Our mission is not only to recover technical information, but historical and sociological. I wanted you to help us acquire their history before the authorities destroy everything. None-the-less we will be going. I thought you would have liked to visit Harran , your homeland.” Baxter smiled and sat down again.

“You would never understand. I just can't go. It's the place where my parents died.”

He nodded all-knowingly. “The Prof wants you special like. He says he only wants people who love the place, that's why he picked you.”

I eased my weight down onto a chair. My head spun and my heart ached. Between the devil and the deep blue sea is a good expression. Do I burn or drown? “What if I agree?” I asked softly.

“It ain't fer a month. You'll have time to make all the arrangements you'll need. It's the chance of a lifetime. I sure wish I wuz one of yah. I gets paid to pull yous all together. You'll enjoy it. I got tickets for yah to Neglos.”

“Neglos? I thought this expedition was to Try-2.”

“It is.”

“Neglos is light years off course.”

“That's where the expedition starts. Now do yah wanna sign all these papers?” he said lifting his brief case.

 

It felt as though I had left my heart on the planet Earth. I felt hollow and somehow nervous. The last time I visited Neglos was at the age of fifteen. Granddad Lumsden had died and I was being shipped to Earth to stay with Grandmother, my last surviving relative. Now at twenty-eight I had returned and this time I was going home. That thought alone made me gasp for air. What is Try-2 like? What of the people? Would any of them remember me?

The Hotel Galileo is by far the most magnificent building I'd ever seen. Standing almost four hundred meters tall the building has its uppermost floors hiding in the clouds. The walls of the hotel stretching to the heavens like a great golden pillar, or God's own tenpin. The only other large building in the city is the museum complex. A university, a museum, and an interplanetary conference center, all rolled into one giant indoor city. Neglos Museum stretches three kilometers on each of its four sides.

After settling into my room I took a tube to the Trysonian exhibit. Try means earth or soil in Dation. Son means. well sort of from or of. Tryson really means the place of earth. In Dation it would mean home. Like we say Telos, or Earth, they say Tryson. The experts in their unending wisdom called Procyon-3's second moon Try-2.

The robots were far more terrible than I remembered them. Being used to human-like robotics it's a shock to see a real mechanical being. The Torbral is probably the friendliest yet totally utilitarian. Standing about two meters tall with almost human like booted feet its metal skin sheer glistened in the artificial light. I stood and wondered what he sounded like, what kind of voice, and what his engine sounded like.

The cantor named after the legendary Najacantor, a terrible spider who collected things. Strangely this machine is the least dangerous, yet it certainly instills the most fear. A God-awful monster with four arms and three legs and a neck like a serpent. This thing would give anyone nightmares. Unlike the war machines, none of its joints were protected by the metal skin. Poor old Najy would scuttle around like a housewife loving and looking after the entire household. She's just a noisy and delicate machine with almost infinite knowledge.

I stood before the awesome doreon with my mouth open aghast at the five meters of glistening death. A shudder ran up my spine as I pondered this monster running at 90 klicks. Those claw-like feet gripping the ground like talons.

“Fascinating, no?”

I turned to see a tall stranger dressed in a neat navy blue uniform. “Yes,” I wheezed.

The stranger's eyes flashed with a wild cunning and his mouth curled into a welcoming smile. “Mr. Lumsden I presume.”

“Yeah. Who are you?”

He slapped me on the back playfully. “I have read all your books. Is this the first time you have actually seen the Trysonians?”

I shook my head. “No. Who are you?”

The tall graying stranger with a dark handlebar moustache glowed with pride. “I knew your father.”

“He died twenty-five years ago,” I said. “So who are you?”

“Come let us proceed to the food court. Did you know they have a simply lovely twenty-first century hamburger stall?”

“Hamburger stall?”

My surprise seemed to amuse him. Gently taking my arm he urged me in the appropriate direction. He led me through the hall to an open outdoor area canopied by a transparent dome. We sat and he haled an automaton waiter. God I hate those things. He ordered burger and fries for two.

“I'm still waiting for an explanation,” I growled.

“Your father and I were in training together. I was one of those who rescued him on Try-2 when he took on the Torbran by himself.”

“So who are you?”

“Then I was Captain Eldridge when I knew your father. Now I'm Major General, retired. You can call me Alex.”

“How did you know I would be here?”

“They told me at the hotel you came here. You look exactly like your father. You must be about the same age as he was when I last saw him.”

“I'm twenty eight.”

He grinned. “I'm our expedition leader. It was upon my recommendation they included you in this trip. I thought you especially would be sympathetic to our cause.”

“Sympathetic? Cause? I fear you have me at a disadvantage. I thought this was an archaeological expedition.”

The waiter arrived with the food. It placed the tray on the table. “What the hell is this stuff?” I asked looking at the small golden sticks and bun with some filth in it.

Alex laughed most heartedly. With tears trickling down his face he said. “You poor lad, have been deprived. Those are sliced potatoes boiled in grease. That's a hamburger.”

“I don't eat meat.”

“No one can afford meat. It's some form of synthesized vegetable crap that resembles meat. Eat up and enjoy.”

I got stuck into the strange food. It was very tasty, much better than what I'd been used to. “So what's this expedition all about?” I asked with a mouthful of repast.

“In their wisdom the authorities have decided to destroy the Torbran, once and for all. This planet is the assembly point. Apparently there are four ships of the line that will escort us to Try-2 and a thousand troops will be deposited. The military will systematically infiltrate, clear and destroy every last Torbran on the planet. Apparently the troops will divide up into groups of one hundred and spread out across the planet.”

“What about the local populous?”

“Ah, well they have had the protection of our rangers since your father's time. The Supreme Council wants to set up democracy and politics an' all that.”

“So what's that all got to do with me, or us?”

“We have a special license to extract information and historical artifacts from the Arlon area. Our leader spent years convincing them that civilized man needs this information. We leave tomorrow.”